Blindsided
by Laine3112
Summary: When Tony is seriously injured during a case, it has life changing repercussions for him and the MCRT. Tony/Gibbs friendship/family - not TIVA. Please read author's notes. REPOSTED INTO SEPARATE CHAPTERS
1. Chapter 1

**Sorry folks, decided to split story into separate chapters to facilitate easier reading and nearly had a heart attack when I saw it had reposted. NO CHANGES TO ACTUAL STORY. What a goof! L**

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

A/N This is a repost of a story originally uploaded by **Numbat000** in March 2010. For those who are curious, an explanation as to why this story has changed authors can be found on her profile.

As **Numbat000** has decided to permanently withdraw this story, I have uploaded it – not to elicit reviews but in the hope that anyone who had previously listed it as a favourite, will choose to do so again. For those of you who may be reading it for the first time, I hope you enjoy it. L

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter One**

The elevator sounded and Gibbs walked into the bullpen to find his team huddled in a "campfire."

"Hey, Boss," Tony said. "Jury reach a verdict already?"

"Nope, they've adjourned for two hours," he replied, slipping a finger under his restrictive collar and giving it a firm tug. "Turner's damn defence attorney is still pleading his innocence."

"The DNA evidence in indisputable, yes?" Ziva questioned.

"Turner's attorney is alleging that his DNA comparison sample was taken without his authority and is therefore inadmissible," Gibbs explained, his anger simmering just below the surface.

"He signed the DNA authority form of his own volition," Ziva stated.

"Attorney's going for diminished responsibility," Gibbs answered.

"What about the fact that when we arrived, Turner was standing over Petty Officer Lauren Henry's body, with a bloodied knife in his hand and his pants around his ankles?" Tony added. "Looked pretty incriminating to me…not to mention, disgusting."

"Is there something you need us to do, Boss?" McGee asked.

"Nope, just here to check in with the director and take my paperwork with me," Gibbs said, surprised to find his in-tray empty.

"Oh, ah, I gotcha covered there, Boss," Tony said. "Came in a little early and got the paperwork up to date."

"Requisitions?"

"Done," Tony said.

"Rosters?"

"Finalised and signed off."

"Incident reports on the Reynolds shooting?"

"Completed. Ballistics, autopsy and witness accounts, catalogued and signed off with copies to IA, Legal and the director. IA ruled it a righteous shoot and Ziva has been cleared to return to full duties."

"Good job, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"Nothing to it, Boss," Tony answered glibly. "Anyone could do it!"

"Anyone?" Gibbs asked, his eyebrows lifting.

"Oh…er…I didn't mean that **anyone** could do it, Boss, cos, clearly, it's **not** easy and we all know how hard you work…I just meant that I've done these reports before, when you quit."

McGee and Ziva both returned quickly to their desks, unable to stand idly by as Tony's runaway mouth de-railed and he headed for a verbal train-wreck.

"Did I say quit?" Tony laughed nervously. "Of course, I meant when you took your hiatus, holiday, intermission, career-break, time-out, lacuna…sorry, Boss."

Gibbs held Tony's gaze a little longer than was comfortable before deciding to let his senior field agent off the hook.

"What's with the campfire?" Gibbs asked.

"We have a lead on our UA - Master Sergeant Guy Briggs," Tony replied.

"The guy who stole the crate of C-4 from the armoury at Quantico?"

"Yep. Gotta tip off from one of my buddies from the Philly PD. A man fitting Briggs' description is working free-lance, selling his bomb-making abilities to the highest bidder," Tony explained. "My buddy's working undercover as a buyer's agent and has arranged for me to meet with Briggs this afternoon. We'll take him down then."

"Sounds like a plan," Gibbs said, nodding favourably.

"Ah, Boss," McGee said placing his desk phone in its cradle. "That was the director's secretary. Director Vance wants to see you."

Gibbs turned on his heel and climbed the stairs, halting briefly on the first landing.

"DiNozzo!" he called. "Don't get too comfortable in my chair!"

"Just keepin' it warm, Boss!" Tony replied with a 1000 watt-grin.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Driving an old pick-up from the NCIS car pool, Tony turned left into Gregory Road and coasted the last few blocks of the sparsely populated road in a suburb at the edge of town where he was to meet with Master Sergeant Briggs. Dressed casually in jeans and a hoody, he spoke into his com-link.

"Probie, you copy?"

"Loud and clear, Tony," McGee said from the back of a panelled truck already parked in the driveway of a neighbouring property.

"Is our back-up in place?"

"DiNozzo, this is Farrell. Preston and I are in position and ready to watch your back."

"Copy that, Farrell," Tony replied to the back-up team. "Wait until I'm in the house before you close in, then wait for my mark. Okay, I'm going in."

Ziva and McGee exchanged a tense glance and checked their weapons as they listened intently to their earwigs.

Tony knocked at the door and quickly talked his way into the house as McGee and Ziva stealthily moved into position at opposite sides of the front of the building. Farrell and Preston were attempting to do likewise at the rear of the house when a large dog appeared from under the house barking furiously.

Master Sergeant Briggs, already nervous and suspicious, cast a glance out the rear window and spotted the agents getting into position.

"You bastard! You set me up!" he yelled at Tony and drew a remote control out of his pocket. "Call them off!"

"I can't do that, Briggs," Tony replied holding his hands in a non-threatening manner.

Briggs pointed with his chin to the living room and Tony turned cautiously to see two blocks of C-4 wired to a timer that was counting down.

"Call them off or we all die!" Briggs yelled, brandishing the remote control device.

"Fall back," Tony spoke harshly into his com-link. "We have live explosives in the building, fall back, alert the bomb squad and commence immediate evacuation of nearby properties!"

Checking the front of the building, Tony and Briggs saw Ziva and McGee move away. McGee was on his cell, presumingly calling in the bomb-squad. As they moved to the back of the house, they saw Farrell and Preston retreating from their positions.

"Give it up, man," Tony said. "Even if you get out of here, you won't get far."

"I will if you come with me," Briggs said. "Give me your weapon. Now!"

Tony carefully lifted his side arm from his shoulder holster using two fingers and placed it on the ground beside him.

"Kick it over here," Briggs said, watching as Tony slowly followed his instructions.

Briggs picked up the weapon and positioned Tony in front of him.

"Now, we walk out the front door and get into your truck – you drive and no funny stuff," Briggs said.

With one arm wrapped around Tony's throat and the Sig pressed firmly into the agent's spine, Briggs guided Tony down the front steps. With a surreptitious look to the right and left of the house, Tony saw McGee and Ziva in position.

"Last chance, Briggs," Tony said. "Put the weapon and the remote down now!"

"You aren't in position to be giving orders," Briggs snarled.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Tony said, swinging his elbow violently and striking the master sergeant hard in the sternum as he threw himself clear.

The sound of gunfire from McGee and Ziva's Sigs rent the air as their bullets hit Briggs high in the chest and the Marine fell to the ground in a bloodied mess.

McGee was quickly at Tony's side.

"Tony, you okay?"

"I'm fine, Probie," Tony replied, retrieving his weapon and the remote from the dead man.

"Bomb squads on the way," he said. "They probably won't get here before the bomb goes off, though."

"Not likely," Tony said. Move the cars back and call Ducky, tell him we've got a customer for him. Ziva, go find Farrell and Preston – I want everyone well away from that house until after the bomb squad clears it!"

"Where are you going?" Ziva asked.

"Channel surfing," Tony replied, holding up the remote control.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

When Tony had last seen the timer connected to the bomb, it was counting down from ten minutes. He calculated that he still had approximately four minutes to use the remote control switch to stop the bomb – that's if the bomb was set to explode at zero.

Putting that thought out of his mind and standing no closer than ten feet away, Tony held his breath and pressed the stop button on the remote. Opening one eye, he saw that timer still counting down and decided to beat a hasty retreat from the house.

As he arrived at the front of the house, he saw the agents taking cover behind the vehicles at a safe distance.

"We checked both neighbouring properties, Tony," Farrell said. "Nobody's home. It's unlikely they're in the blast range anyway."

"Wait! Where's Ziva?" Tony asked, his heart pounding painfully into his ribs.

"I haven't seen her for a few minutes," McGee said. "I thought she was with you."

Tony looked back at the house and spoke harshly into his com-link.

"Ziva, where the hell are you?" he hissed.

"Tony, I am in the house," she responded. "I believe I can disarm the bomb."

Tony ran his hand through his hair and breathed deeply to retain his composure. In the distance the sirens of the bomb squad approached.

"Ziva, I gave you an order! Get the hell outta there!"

"I have almost got it, stop distracting me!"

"Dammit!" Tony yelled. "McGee, stay here, no one goes inside until the bomb squad arrive."

"Tony!" McGee yelled to the acting lead agent's retreating back.

Taking a deep breath, Tony sprinted for the house determined to get his agent out of harms way so he could kill her himself. He took the steps in one leap and almost tore the screen door from its hinges in his haste. He got a quick glimpse of the empty living room as he rounded the door from the hallway then time stood still as his gaze fell upon the timer:-

0:00

His breath caught and hell broke loose as the bomb exploded. Caught in the blast concussion, Tony felt his body picked up and thrown violently across the room and into the wall. As his head smashed against the wall, his last thought was of Ziva before darkness rushed over him.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Two**

McGee was caught in a waking nightmare as the bomb exploded seconds after Tony entered the building. He watched on in horror as windows shattered, timber cracked and splintered and assorted debris was catapulted into the air.

"Tony! Ziva!" he yelled repeatedly into his com-link, feeling his throat tighten and his heart pound painfully in his chest when his calls were met with silence.

The sirens of the bomb squad and the emergency services vehicles were still agonising moments from arrival. Decision made, McGee turned to Agents Farrell and Preston, who were still at his side.

"I'm going in," he said. "I need you to check around back."

"You can't," Preston protested. "What if there's another bomb?"

"My partners are in there!" McGee yelled furiously. "Check the back, see if we can access the house from there."

"We should wait for the bomb squad," Farrell tried to reason.

"Dammit, if that was you in there, Farrell – or you, Preston – would you want people standing around debating the merits of waiting for the bomb squad?" McGee snapped. "Just go round the back and let me know if it's still accessible – that's all I'm asking."

McGee pulled up the collar of his jacket, attempting to give himself a little protection from the heat and billowing smoke then drew his handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nose and mouth. Taking a deep breath, he crouched low and ran up the front steps and into the house. His breath was immediately snatched away by the heat and smell of the fire that, for the moment, seemed to be primarily based in the living room.

"Tony! Ziva!" he called, blinking tears from eyes irritated by smoke, heat and floating debris particles.

Coughing and gagging from the taste and smell of the acrid smoke, he took a knee and breathed deeply from the untainted air closer to the ground. He was ready to continue his search when he saw a body lying sprawled at the far end of the hallway.

"Tony!" he gasped.

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Farrell and Preston ran quickly to the rear yard of the house that was now littered in detritus from the explosion. They were making their way to the back entrance when the sound of a dog whimpering, caught their attention. Turning toward the noise they saw the large dog standing over the unmoving body of a woman, Ziva. As they approached, the dog became anxious and growled protectively.

"Easy boy," Farrell said. "We're not gonna hurt you."

The dog moved slightly, placing itself between the agents and Ziva, curling its lips to reveal dangerously large teeth.

"Ziva? Ziva can you hear me?" Farrell asked as he noticed her beginning to stir. "Ziva, if you can hear me, stay very still – there's a vicious dog standing over you."

Farrell removed his jacket, wrapping it tightly around his right arm for protection against the possible dog attack while Preston took his weapon from his holster, ready to take a shot.

"No, wait!" Ziva moaned softly from her prostrate position on the ground.

"Ziva! Don't move – we'll try to lure the dog away," Farrell instructed.

"That will not be necessary," Ziva replied, rolling onto her back with a stifled cry, she called to the large dog. "Hey, good boy, you are a good boy, yes?" she cooed.

The dog's demeanour changed instantly as it was transformed from Cujo to Pluto and wagged its tail happily. Cautiously, the other agents approached and crouched by Ziva's side.

"Are you hurt?" Preston said, warily eying the dog.

"I think my arm may be broken," Ziva replied, favouring her right arm.

Farrell assisted her to carefully position her arm against her chest, preventing unnecessary and painful movement, and he wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. They helped her to her feet, steadying her until her legs found their strength and all sighed with relief as the sirens of the emergency services vehicles sounded their arrival at the scene.

"Come on," Preston said. "We'll get you to the ambulance."

As they walked to the front of the house, they saw several members of the bomb squad disappear into the building. Preston called to the EMT's standing nearby who assisted Ziva to sit on the step at the rear of the ambulance. She did so willingly as a spell of light-headedness and a pounding headache threatened to overwhelm her.

"Who's in charge here?" the Bomb Squad leader asked.

"Special Agent McGee," Farrell replied. "He's in the house. We have an agent down."

"What?" Ziva said in alarm, pushing away the arms of the EMT attempting to check her over. She climbed unsteadily to her feet. "Where is Tony?"

A commotion at the front of the house caught their attention, as Tony was carried unconscious from the building, McGee at his side.

"Tony," Ziva gasped.

"He went into the house to get you, Ziva," Preston said. "Just as the bomb exploded."

"Oh, God!" she whispered. "What have I done?"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs pushed his way through the elevator doors before they had fully opened and urgently searched the waiting room for a familiar face. He spotted Ducky and McGee standing at the nurses' station, awash in paperwork, and hurried to join them.

"What the _hell_ happened?" he asked.

"Jethro! You made good time!" Ducky said holding Tony's wallet in his hand. "I don't suppose you know where Anthony keeps his health insurance number? I can't seem to find it here in his wallet."

"DXN74659" Gibbs replied by rote.

"My word, that's very impressive!" Ducky commented, shaking his head in admiration.

"Practise," Gibbs stated flatly. "How are they?"

"Ziva has a slight concussion and greenstick fracture of her right radius. It has necessitated the insertion of a surgical plate - she is currently in surgery and expected to make a full recovery."

"Tony?"

"Anthony suffered a hairline fracture of the occipital bone at the base of his skull and a serious concussion. He also sustained some smoke inhalation after the explosion."

"Ducky? His lungs?"

"His lungs are fine, Jethro, the doctors have him on oxygen as a precaution only."

"DiNozzo has a concussion and his lungs are fine, yet we're standing out here in the halls? What _aren't_ you telling me, Duck?" Gibbs asked with growing impatience.

"The doctors are still with him, Jethro. Anthony hasn't regained consciousness yet and that is cause for considerable concern."

"Ya think, Duck? It's been over three hours!"

"Please calm down, Jethro, I'm sure they'll come and see us just as soon as there's any news."

Gibbs carded his fingers through his short, silver hair and exhaled loudly. He turned his attention to his dishevelled agent, noting McGee's eyes were red from smoke irritation and he was coughing frequently.

"McGee? You alright?"

"I'm fine, Boss," McGee replied. "Just a bit of residual smoke."

"What happened?"

As McGee recounted the events that led to his teammates injuries, his breath caught and he coughed harshly. Ducky handed him a bottle of water, receiving a nod of thanks.

"So Briggs is dead and there's a bomb inside the house still counting down," Gibbs stated, watching McGee nod his head while taking another drink. "What happened next and don't tell me those two went back inside to try to disarm it?"

"No, Boss, Tony ordered everyone to stay clear, we called the EMT and the bomb squad and tried to evacuate the neighbouring properties."

"And?" Gibbs snapped.

"And, um, then, er…Tony went back inside the house to try to disarm the bomb," McGee answered quickly.

"Damn it, DiNozzo!"

"_But _he took the remote with him, Boss, and when the remote didn't work he came straight back out!"

"If he came straight back out, how the hell did he end up in a hospital bed with a crack in that thick skull of his?" Gibbs asked, not bothering to hide his frustration.

"Cos, um, he, er…he went back in," McGee muttered.

"_He went back in!"_ Gibbs repeated loudly. _"Of all the boneheaded, idiotic…."_

"Boss! Please, it wasn't Tony's fault!" McGee tried desperately to explain. "Ziva had gone in the back way, Tony told her to get out of the house but…"

"She didn't."

McGee's silence and his inability to meet Gibbs' determined glare was all the answer he required.

"Jethro, when the explosion occurred, Anthony was trying to get Ziva out of harms way," Ducky added softly.

"He didn't know that Ziva had already realised there was no more time," McGee continued. "Tony went in the front door as Ziva went out the back and they both got caught in the blast concussion."

Gibbs closed his eyes on a sigh. "Has anyone called Abby?" he asked after a moment.

"Mr Palmer has gone to fetch Abigail," Ducky replied.

With a brisk nod, Gibbs walked to the large windows and looked out into the night. He pressed the heels of his callused hands into tired eyes and chased away all thoughts of _what could have been._

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

After a successful surgery, Ziva was wheeled from the Recovery ward to a bed in a private room. McGee, Ducky and Palmer had quietly looked in on her but were told she would most likely sleep until morning. It was almost another hour before the doctor left Tony's side to speak with Gibbs and the team.

"Agent DiNozzo has taken a fierce blow to the head," Doctor Andrews said. "His pupils are very sluggish and his CT scans indicate swelling in the occipital lobe. We're concerned about the severity of his concussion but until he regains consciousness we'll just have to wait and see."

"He's not awake yet? It's been hours!" Abby asked, red nosed and puffy eyed but stoically holding on to her composure.

"Not yet," the doctor replied, "but we've been monitoring his vitals and his brain activity and we're confident that he will wake up soon. He's going to have one hell of a headache."

"Can we see him, Doctor?" McGee asked.

"I'm sorry, it's very late and I'd like to keep him as quiet as possible. One of you can stay and the rest are welcome to come back tomorrow."

There was never a question of who would be staying with Tony, so, nodding their reluctant acquiescence, they said goodnight to the doctor and Gibbs and left for their homes.

Doctor Andrews led Gibbs into Tony's room and Gibbs blanched at the machinery and equipment currently attached to his agent.

"Don't let all this hardware get to you," Doctor Andrews said. "We've already reduced his oxygen intake from the mask to the nasal cannula and if his breathing continues to improve, he'll lose the cannula tomorrow. The IV is just to keep his fluids up until he regains consciousness and the EEG is monitoring Agent DiNozzo's levels of consciousness and his brain activity."

"Good luck with that," Gibbs said with the ghost of a smile crossing his lips. "I've been working with him for eight years - know him better than anyone – and, sometimes, _I_ still wonder how his brain works."

Doctor Andrews gave a chuckle and pointed to the visitor's chair. "Sorry about your accommodation," he said. "I'll have a nurse bring in a coffee an hour from now."

Gibbs gave a quick nod and began his vigil in the visitor's chair.

Time passed slowly as Gibbs was lured into the almost hypnotic effect of the steady rise and fall of Tony's chest. He tried to ignore the stillness of a man who had rarely stopped moving since their first encounter. He shook his head and his lips quirked in a smile as he fondly recalled meeting the cocky young detective in Baltimore. To his surprise he'd found, under the flippant, brash, wise-ass exterior, Anthony DiNozzo was a hell of an investigator, a person he could respect, a partner he could trust with his life and a man well worth getting to know.

Yet another hour passed and a nurse delivered a second cup of coffee and a sandwich.

The squeak of a plastic lid being removed from a Styrofoam coffee cup and the aroma of strong coffee wafted over to him. He kept his eyes closed as he heard the soft creak of the bedside chair as his visitor shifted his bodyweight.

"Boss?" Tony whispered, frown and pain lines appearing instantly as his mammoth headache made its presence felt.

"Tony," Gibbs replied, reaching for the call button to request pain relief for his agent. "Doc's on his way, hold on."

Tony gave a tiny nod before opening his eyes a crack. His long fingers twisted in the linen as his breathing sped up.

"Boss…s'late?" Tony asked in a barely audible whisper.

"Yeah, Tony, it's very late," Gibbs answered.

Tony blinked his eyes rapidly and turned his head to look around the room. Sensing Tony's burgeoning panic and disorientation Gibbs pressed the call button repeatedly and placed a comforting hand over Tony's white knuckles.

"Hey, talk to me," Gibbs said. "What's going on?"

"Boss…I can't see."

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Three**

Gibbs stood in the waiting room, a long emptied Styrofoam cup still in his hand as he stared at the closed door to Tony's hospital room. He sensed, rather than heard, the approach of his long-term friend and took some comfort from the hand that the elderly ME placed on his shoulder.

"Thanks for coming back, Duck," Gibbs said flatly.

"Of course, Jethro," Ducky replied. "Is there any news?"

"Not yet. The docs are still with him."

Brutally crushing the cup into submission, Gibbs threw it into the nearby trashcan and start to pace in an agitated manner.

"How could this happen, Duck? I watched the nursing staff shine their damn penlights in his eyes every 15 minutes, waiting for him to wake up! Nobody noticed that he was blind?"

"In cases of severe brain trauma, the vision impairment can be due to damage to the brain and not the eyes. For all intents and purposes, the eyes function perfectly."

"Except for the fact that he can't see!" Gibbs growled.

"Yes, except for that." Ducky repeated sadly.

The door to Tony's room opened and two doctor's exited, closing the door behind them and conferring over what Gibbs assumed to be Tony's medical chart. Moments later they turned and entered the waiting room. Gibbs recognised Doctor Andrews, the young doctor who had treated Tony earlier.

"Agent Gibbs, Doctor Mallard," Doctor Andrews said. "I'd like you to meet Doctor James Owens our Chief Ophthalmologist."

The men nodded a greeting and shook hands.

"How is he, Doctor?" Gibbs asked, unable to wait another moment.

"As you know, Agent DiNozzo suffered a severe blow to the back of his skull. The impact was hard enough to cause a hairline fracture to his occipital bone and considerable swelling to the occipital cortex," the eye specialist explained. "Based on the tests I have conducted on Agent DiNozzo, I believe his eyes are working perfectly."

"But he can't see," Gibbs stated.

"No, he can't. Our eyes deliver information on the world around us to various parts of the brain via nerves that detect light. The occipital cortex, situated at the rear of the brain, processes the information and allows us to see distance, shape, movement and colour. If that area suffers some form of trauma, it can result in partial or complete loss of sight."

"And in Anthony's case?" Ducky asked.

"At the moment, he has no perception of light, colour or movement," Dr Owens replied. "Agent DiNozzo is completely blind."

The words hit Gibbs like a kick to the gut, stealing his breath and momentarily robbing him of his ability to form the next question. Thankfully, Ducky stepped in and spoke the words Gibbs could not put voice to.

"Doctor Owens, is Anthony's condition permanent?"

"That depends on the severity of the brain damage, it could be temporary or it could be permanent. I'm sorry - I know this is not easy to hear. We have arranged for a leading neurologist to see Agent DiNozzo tomorrow." He checked his watch and gave a small apologetic shrug. "Make that later this morning. He'll have further testing and we should know something more definite after that."

"Have you spoken to Anthony about your diagnosis?" Ducky asked.

"We keep all of our patients as well informed as we can," Doctor Owens replied. "He took the news surprisingly well."

"Yes, well, with Anthony, it's often difficult to know exactly what he is feeling."

"He was in quite a bit of pain from his head trauma. We've sedated him so that he can get some rest before he has the other tests."

"I'd like to see him," Gibbs said, finally finding his voice.

"Of course," the doctors said, before excusing themselves and leaving to attend to other patients.

Gibbs and Ducky entered Tony's room, noting how the subdued lighting highlighted the younger man's pale complexion. The nasal cannula and EEG leads had been removed; leaving the room eerily silent with the exception of Tony's deep, steady breathing. The frown and pain lines evident earlier, had smoothed and disappeared with the apportioning of pain medication and the fingers that had tightly grasped the bed linen were now relaxed in sleep.

Gibbs watched his agent's peaceful drug-induced slumber and tried to imagine the devastation of suddenly facing a world without sight. As he resumed his seat in the visitor's chair he leaned forward and placed his hand on Tony's forearm, hoping the touch would ground him when he woke to darkness.

"Anthony will survive this, Jethro," Ducky said with certainty. "Be this temporary or permanent, he has the strength to overcome and conquer this crisis."

"His whole life is about sight, Duck," Gibbs said quietly, never taking his eyes off his sleeping agent. "His job as an investigator, his ability to read people, his love of sports and watching his damn movies. This will devastate him."

"I agree that Anthony has a most difficult path ahead of him, with innumerable challenges and adjustments to make. But mark my words, Jethro; this young man would not have survived without being a strong person. People around him see an unhappy childhood and family life and pity him - but pity is for the weak and there is no weakness in Anthony. You knew that the moment you offered him a position on your team. He will get through this – we will see to it!"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

In silent companionship, Ducky spent the rest of the night in Tony's room, observing as Gibbs monitored every restless movement or soft, incoherent moan the younger man made in his sleep. Whether his hand gently grasped Tony's forearm or his shoulder, Gibbs never broke contact – silently reassuring him that he was not alone.

With the sun sending its early morning tendrils to peak through the blinds and herald the arrival of a new day, Ducky rose stiffly to his feet and rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks. He stood quietly beside the bed and placed a gentle hand on Tony's head.

"He had a restful night, Jethro," he said.

"It's what's waiting for him that worries me, Duck."

Ducky sighed audibly, silently agreeing with his friend. "I'll see if I can scare up some coffee, hmm?" he said. "Then I'll check on Ziva."

Making his way around the bed, he walked quietly to the door and turned back to Gibbs.

"Jethro, perhaps you should call Timothy and Abigail back to the hospital? They have a right to know what's happening."

Years of friendship enabled the elderly ME to read Gibbs' unspoken words and Ducky recognised that he was not about to leave Tony to wake up alone.

"You stay with Anthony," he said with a sad smile. "I'll inform the others."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Having purchased and delivered a steaming hot coffee and Styrofoam container of pancakes and syrup to Gibbs, Ducky exited Tony's room, pulling the door gently closed.

"Ducky?"

He turned to see Ziva, dressed in a thin hospital robe and slippers with her right arm in a cast and strapped across her body.

"Ziva, my dear, I was just on my way to see you," he said cordially. "How are you feeling? I've been reliably informed by the nursing staff that you are being released this morning."

She looked over his shoulder at the closed door behind him.

"Ducky, is that Tony's room? How is he? I would like to see him," she said trying to step around him.

Ducky linked his arm through her good arm and steered her away from the door.

"Ducky?" she said halting their progress.

"It's not a good time, my dear, Anthony is still sleeping."

"I will not wake him, Ducky, I want to be sure he is okay."

"Please, Ziva, not now," Ducky said firmly.

"Ducky, what is wrong?" she asked, her voice growing louder with impatience. "What are you not telling me?"

"Let's go back to your room so we can talk."

Once again he steered her in the direction of her room and they walked down the corridor in an uncomfortable silence. As they passed the elevator, McGee, Abby and Palmer arrived, wearing matching expressions of concern.

"Ducky?" Abby called. "We came as fast as we could…well, that's not quite right, we could have been here faster if McGee didn't drive like an eighty year old woman."

With a put upon sigh and rolling his eyes heavenward, McGee chose to let the comment slide.

"Ducky, you wanted to see us?" he asked.

"Yes, Timothy, I did. Why don't we speak privately in Ziva's room?"

Ducky waited until Ziva and Abby were settled on the bed and Palmer and McGee were seated before he told them of Tony's condition.

Ziva paled noticeably, calling upon her years of Mossad training to maintain her composure and her impervious façade, while Abby swiped angrily at a traitorous tear that tracked mascara down her pale cheek.

"Ducky, is it permanent?" McGee asked.

"Anthony will undergo more testing later today to determine the severity of his injury and his visual impairment," Ducky explained to the shell-shocked group.

"Maybe it isn't as bad as we think," Jimmy said. "Maybe as the swelling subsides, Tony's sight will return."

"From your lips to God's ears, Mr Palmer," Ducky replied. "All we can do right now is hope and pray that Anthony will make a full recovery."

"Can we see him?" Abby asked in a tremulous voice.

"Not this morning, Abigail," Ducky said patting her hand. "Anthony has been sedated and needs his rest. He's not alone, however, Jethro is with him. I think it would be best for all of us to go about our business until we have more information on Anthony's condition. You have my word, I will let you know as soon as we have any news."

He looked around the room at the solemn faces and bowed heads.

"Timothy?"

"I'll take Abby back to work and ask the director to take us off rotation," McGee said, placing a comforting arm around Abby's thin shoulders.

"Mr Palmer?"

"I'll drive Ziva back to her apartment and start on that inventory we were planning."

"That's the spirit!" Ducky said cheerfully.

Abby lifted a small overnight bag and placed it on the bed next to Ziva.

"I brought you some clothes from your locker," she said with a forced smile.

"Thank you, Abby," Ziva said quietly, not meeting Abby's gaze.

"Right! Let's give Ziva a little privacy - I'll get your discharge papers, my dear."

Ziva watched them leave and viciously suppressed a sob. There had been no blame laid and no accusing looks but as she stood alone in her room she felt the strain of their silent recriminations and their unspoken condemnation.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs watched helplessly as Tony slowly wrestled his way back to consciousness. The shadows bruising his agent's eyes and the lines around his mouth testified to how much pain Tony was in as the effects of the concussion presented.

He groaned as a wave of nausea and pain crashed over him and Gibbs placed an emesis basin in the younger man's hands and reached, once again, for the call button. Even after the doctor had administered Compazine to settle Tony's stomach, he continued to retch and gasp for several long minutes until, eventually; he stopped -shaking from pain and exhaustion. Only then, did Tony attempt to open his eyes.

His eyelashes fluttered and he blinked several times before raising his hand in front of his face. He waggled his fingers and huffed out a humourless laugh.

"Is it morning?" he asked quietly, the words tearing at Gibbs' heart.

"Zero seven hundred," Gibbs replied in a steady voice.

"Shit," he whispered, realising that the room would be flooded in natural light that he could not see.

"I spoke with your doctors," Gibbs said, keeping his voice calm and even. "We'll know more once you've had more tests."

"I thought it was a dream, I thought I could open my eyes and everything would be back to normal," Tony's voice was monotone and lifeless and his body shuddered under the onslaught of his emotions.

"I can't do this, Boss?" he whispered, his self-control hanging by a gossamer thread.

He turned his sightless eyes to Gibbs with a look of such desperate, hopelessness that Gibbs needed a minute to keep his own resolve in check. He placed a callused hand on either side of Tony's face and turned it toward his own.

"Listen to me," he ordered gruffly. "You will get through this! Are you listening? Whatever happens…You. Will. Get. Through. This!"

"I gotcha, Boss," Tony whispered, emotion catching in his throat.

Tony leant back against his pillows; the emotion had expended his depleted energy reserves. He was unusually comforted by Gibbs' hand lightly grasping his shoulder and had almost surrendered to sleep when the clattering of a wheel chair, arriving to take him for his tests, abruptly awakened him.

"You ready for this?" Gibbs asked.

"Let's do it," Tony replied.

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Four**

Gibbs held the door open, allowing Tony's wheelchair to be pushed back into his room. With a succinct "I got him," he displaced the orderly and assisted the exhausted younger man back into the bed.

Tony's head was pounding mercilessly and he was nauseas and disillusioned. Over two hours of extensive testing by the most sophisticated ophthalmology equipment in DC, had confirmed the results of last night's preliminary findings. Despite his loss of vision – Tony's eyes were functioning perfectly

Tony was given a few hours to rest in his room before the scheduled neurological tests and, as he sank deeply into the pillows, his muted hopelessness was obvious in every line of his slumped body.

The door closed behind the orderly with a faint click, causing Tony to sit bolt upright. His unseeing eyes were wide with panic as he nearly pitched headlong to the floor.

"Boss, Boss!" he shouted.

Gibbs moved quickly, grasping his agent around the shoulders and supporting him back against the bed head.

"Easy, Tony," he said calmly. "The orderly left, I'm still here."

His heart was hammering as he fought to regain control of his breathing. He blinked furiously, fighting against a rush of nausea as his stomach felt ready to rebel again at any moment. Tony turned his face away from Gibbs – mortified by his irrational need to have his boss close by.

Gibbs dragged the visitor's chair closer to the bed, keeping a light hold on Tony's wrist.

"You need anything?" Gibbs asked evenly.

Tony shook his head slowly.

"Have some water," Gibbs instructed, turning to the bedside table to fill a cup from the pitcher.

Placing a straw in the cup, Gibbs raised it until the straw was within reach of Tony's mouth.

"Drink," Gibbs said.

Embarrassed by his boss's ministrations, Tony reached quickly for the cup. His uncoordinated movement knocked the receptacle from Gibbs's grasp and sent it bouncing end over end to the floor, spilling the contents.

"My fault," Gibbs said, reaching for a nearby towel to clean up the spill. "Should've put the cup in your hand. I'll get you another."

"No!" Tony said sharply.

"Tony…"

"_I don't want the damn drink_!" Tony shouted.

The heat in his words matched the anguish in his eyes and he suddenly understood that even the most basic activity now presented a major challenge - he had not only lost his sight but also his independence. The realisation tore at his composure and crashed over him like a tsunami.

"DiNozzo…" Gibbs spoke softly, disturbed by the myriad of emotions that reflected in the sightless green eyes.

"I'm tired, Boss," Tony said roughly as he manoeuvred himself lower into the bed and drew up the covers.

"Get some rest," Gibbs said quietly, using the remote to lower the head of the bed. "I'll be here."

When the former Marine repositioned his hand on the younger man's wrist, he fully expected Tony to reject the contact. But his warm, callused fingers provided a lifeline as his agent battled to accept the devastating prospect of being forever without sight.

The healing sleep Gibbs had hoped for his agent was anything but peaceful. For the next two hours, the younger man frowned, mumbled unintelligibly and moved restlessly beneath the covers. He watched, frustrated and helpless, as Tony was trapped in his own private hell.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

The trip from the hospital had been completed, for the most part, in an awkward silence. After a few aborted attempts at small talk and several furtive glances at his subdued passenger, Jimmy realised Ziva was not in a talkative mood.

Palmer parked his car at the front of the modern apartment building and quickly rounded the vehicle to open the passenger door. With a supportive hand on her elbow, he assisted Ziva to the sidewalk and reached back into the car to retrieve her overnight bag and a small brown bag containing her medication. As he started for the lobby of the apartment block, she pulled away from his grip.

"Thank you for the ride, Palmer," she said quietly. "But I am quite capable of getting home from here."

"Oh, I know that," Palmer said cheerfully. "But my mother raised me to always walk a lady to her door."

He took her arm once again and escorted her into the elevator then exited on her floor. Taking her keys, Jimmy opened the door to her apartment and guided her inside. Her pale complexion and the way she carefully cradled her arm, left him in no doubt that she was overdue for her pain medication.

Leaving her overnight bag by the bedroom door, he read the label on the bottle of painkillers and walked toward the kitchen.

"You need to eat something before you take these pills, Ziva," Jimmy said, in full medical student mode. "Why don't I make you a cup of tea and some toast while you slip into something a little more comfortable."

Immediately realising the faux-pas, he felt the heat of a blush colour his face, as Ziva raised an eyebrow and showed the first hint of a smile he had seen from her.

"I didn't mean…I just meant…you might feel more comfortable if you take your clothes off."

Two words flashed through Palmer's mind – _'Mossad assassin.' _

"Oh God, Ziva, I really didn't mean…"

"It is fine, Jimmy," she said flatly, "I know what you meant."

Ziva walked towards her bedroom to get changed, still cradling her broken arm as Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief.

"If you need a hand, just call," he said innocently then blushed brightly again and dropped his head into his hands at his repeated transgression. _'Real smooth, Palmer,'_ he thought ruefully.

"I am sure I will manage," Ziva said quietly. "The tea caddy is in the cupboard over the sink."

By the time Ziva had changed into a pair of sweats and an overly large t-shirt, Jimmy had placed the tea and toast on the coffee table and was tinkering with the keys of her piano.

"Needs tuning again," he said. "Have you been playing much?"

"I have not had the time."

She sipped her tea, studying him over the rim of her teacup and finally asked the question that had been on her mind all morning.

"Jimmy, why are you here with me?" she asked flatly. "After what happened to Tony, I thought you might…"

"Blame you?" Jimmy finished.

She nodded tensely and averted her eyes.

"What purpose would that serve? Tony would still be injured and you would feel worse than you do now."

"That is not possible," she whispered.

"You think the others blame you?"

"McGee and Abby could not bare to look in my direction, Ducky would not let me see Tony and I do not even want to _think_ about Gibbs at the moment."

"Then don't!" Jimmy said, his worry for his friend resulting in a rare short-tempered tone. "This isn't about Agent Gibbs, it isn't about blame, it isn't about McGee or Abby and it's not about you, Ziva. This is about _Tony_ - he's the one that needs our support right now."

"Then why did Ducky prevent _me_ from seeing him?" Ziva asked defensively.

"Nobody but Dr Mallard and Agent Gibbs has seen Tony. We all _want_ to but until Tony's ready, it really shouldn't matter what _we_ want!"

Jimmy checked his watch and stood up. "I need to go to work," he said sharply. "Don't forget to take your meds."

When Ziva's only response was to avert her gaze, Jimmy huffed a sigh of frustration and headed for the door. As he started to close it behind him, he heard Ziva call his name and he looked in her direction.

"Thank you," she said quietly, then turned her back and allowed him to leave before he saw the naked emotion on her face.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Tony woke to darkness again but the large hand, resting gently on his shoulder, grounded him enough to suppress the panic that gripped him.

"Is it time?" he asked sleepily.

"Five more minutes," Gibbs told him. "Ducky will be here when it's time."

"I need to hit the head," Tony whispered awkwardly.

Gibbs moved the rollaway table and visitor's chair to clear a passage while Tony moved himself into a seated position, his long legs hanging over the side of the bed.

"You ready?" Gibbs asked, watching as Tony replied with an abashed nod.

Placing a supportive arm behind Tony's back and taking slow and cautious steps, Gibbs guided him safely to the adjoining bathroom.

"The head's three feet away at your nine o'clock, the sink's two feet away at your twelve o'clock," Gibbs told him. "Cold water faucet is on the right."

Gibbs hovered until he was certain Tony wasn't going to fall on his ass then closed the door and left him to attend to his business in private.

He took a seat on the bed to wait for Tony just as Ducky arrived with a wheelchair. The ME raised an eyebrow at the empty bed and Gibbs nodded toward the bathroom.

"How is he?" Ducky asked softly.

"Struggling. Coping one minute, devastated the next," Gibbs replied.

"That's a perfectly understandable reaction, Jethro," Ducky assured.

"I know."

"It's never easy watching someone you care for suffer through something of this magnitude."

"I don't know how to help him, Duck?"

"You already are, Jethro, you already are."

The door to the bathroom opened and Tony tentatively felt his way through.

"Boss?"

"Here, Tony," he said, falling in at Tony's side. "Ducky's here."

"Your chariot awaits, my boy!" Ducky said with a forced cheerfulness as he took Tony's other side and guided him into the wheelchair then off for more tests.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

McGee entered the strangely quiet lab with a Caf-Pow in one hand and a bag of sandwiches in the other. Noting the main lab was empty he entered the smaller office area and found Abby sitting at her desk, staring at her cell. She turned quickly hearing his approach.

"Have you heard anything?" they said simultaneously.

"No. You?" they both replied.

"I was hoping you had," they spoke together. "Stop speaking when I'm speaking!"

"What?" they asked at the same time.

Rolling his eyes heavenward, McGee placed the Caf-Pow on Abby's desk and his index finger to her lips to quiet her.

"No…I haven't heard from them either but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Palmer said the tests Tony is having can take hours," McGee replied. "You should eat something, Abs, I brought you some lunch."

"I hate waiting," Abby said reaching for her Caf-Pow. "I hate not knowing what's going on and not being there with Tony."

"Ducky said that he'd let us know as soon as they had the results and as soon as Tony was ready for visitors."

"But we're not visitors, Timmy, we're family! We should be with him!"

"I know, Abs," he said placing a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I spoke to the director. As I'm currently a team of one, I'll be assisting the other teams with the IT side of their investigations. So the down side is that I'm pretty well deskbound but the upside is – I get to have lunch with you."

"Yay!" Abby said forcing a smile.

"I left Ziva a message but she hasn't returned my call." McGee said. "Have you heard from her?"

"No!" Abby replied curtly.

"This wasn't her fault, Abs, she didn't mean for Tony to get hurt."

"Then why did she have to go back inside the house? You said that Tony specifically ordered everyone out of the house – why did she go back in?"

"I don't know, Abs," he replied. "Guess we'll just have to ask her."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

In the waiting room of the Imaging Department, Gibbs paced the floor like a caged lion.

"What's taking so long," he growled. "They said 90 minutes and it's already been over two hours!"

"Really, Jethro, do try to relax," Ducky scolded, the pacing wearing on his last nerve. "MRI's and CT scans are very intricate procedures - the slightest movement can ruin the images. Rest assured that Anthony is receiving the best care possible."

The words had scarcely left Ducky's mouth when Bethesda's Chief Neurologist, Doctor Nathan Colby, and a nurse rushed through the waiting room, swiped a security card through the reading device and disappeared through the door to the Imaging area. Gibbs leapt to his feet when Tony's panicked shouts perforated the quiet of the waiting room. He crossed the room in three strides but not before the self-locking door of the Imaging area closed tightly.

"What the hell's happening?" he yelled, slamming a fist on the impermeable door.

"Now, Jethro…"

"Don't tell me to relax, Ducky!"

"What I had intended to say, was that if you insist on breaking your hand on the door, at least you won't have to go far for an x-ray," Ducky replied, receiving an unamused glare in return. "Let them do their jobs, Jethro. I'm sure someone will be out to speak to us as soon as they can."

Gibbs was just about at his wits end. After almost 20 hours at the hospital he was climbing the walls. He carded slightly trembling fingers through his hair in a gesture Ducky recognised as helpless frustration and began to pace again.

"You know, Jethro, with Anthony having his MRI, now would be the perfect time for you to take a real walk and relieve some of that tension," Ducky suggested, receiving his second death glare from his long-time friend. "Or perhaps not."

The security door opened and Doctor Colby stepped into the waiting area.

"Agent Gibbs, Doctor Mallard, I apologise for the delay," he said.

"Doctor, what happened?" Gibbs asked.

"Agent DiNozzo became extremely agitated when we were doing the MRI," the doctor explained. "Gadolinium, the contrast agent we injected, exacerbated the nausea and dizziness he was already experiencing from his concussion. Due to his blindness, when the examination table began to hum and move around, it was quite disorienting and overwhelming."

"And now?"

"Unfortunately, we had to give him a sedative to finish the imaging. He'll be in there for another 15 minutes then we'll take him back to his room to sleep off the rest of the sedative."

"Doctor, when do you expect to have the results of the tests?" Ducky asked.

"They'll be available within the hour - if Tony feels up to it, I can deliver the results then," Doctor Colby replied. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to him."

Gibbs and Ducky exchanged a worried glance.

"Perhaps I should call the others. They will want to offer Anthony their support when he gets the news," Ducky said.

Gibbs shook his head.

"If I know DiNozzo, last thing he'll want is a room full of people."

Ducky sighed heavily and rested his hand on Gibbs' shoulder.

"Come, my friend, we have just enough time to take that walk and grab a bite to eat before Anthony receives the results of his tests. I have a feeling that this will be another long night."

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Five**

As the orderlies brought Tony back into his room and settled him into his bed, Gibbs and Ducky resumed their vigil in the visitor's chairs. Still battling the effects of the sedative, Tony furrowed his brow as he struggled his way back through the various levels of consciousness, blinking bleary, sightless eyes in a futile attempt to clear his vision.

As his agent began showing signs of restlessness, Gibbs leant forward to, again, take hold of Tony's wrist in a gesture of silent reassurance. Tony's breathing evened out, his face relaxed and his head canted slightly to the side. He was on the cusp of sleep when his eyes flew open again and he turned his face to Gibbs.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"Boss," Tony whispered sibilantly. "Ziva's okay?"

"You asked me last night, Tony – twice," Gibbs replied. "Broken arm but she's home now."

"s'good," Tony slurred as his eyes drifted closed again. "s'good."

He slept fitfully for another fifteen minutes before the thudding inside his head began to increase and when the pain became unbearable, he awoke. His pallor and pained expression had Ducky instantly on his feet in search of his doctor and additional medication.

Gibbs watched the younger man for several minutes, recognising the instant the drug-induced fugue lifted and the reality of his blindness came crashing back down on him. For a fleeting moment the raw emotions surfaced and his long, searching fingers found and painfully taloned around Gibbs' forearm.

Within the space of three deep breaths, the younger man had viciously suppressed his fears and with an intrinsic inner-strength, he shored up the façade he wore to keep his innermost feelings at bay. He loosened his painful grip on Gibbs' arm, and donned a crooked grin.

"Sorry, Boss," he said softly to avoid aggravating the headache from hell.

Gibbs placed his free hand on Tony's shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "Ducky's gone for the doc."

"The results?"

"Just waiting for you to wake up and join us," he replied lightly. "How you feeling?"

"Headache's killing me," Tony said, surprising Gibbs with his admission. "How was court? Jury convict Turner already?"

"Not yet…Judge granted an adjournment of two days," Gibbs said. "Family business."

"Turner had family business?"

"Nope…I did," Gibbs replied.

Tony sat a little straighter and flexed his jaw before asking. " s'bad Boss, isn't it?"

"Wait for the doc."

He huffed a small, humourless laugh. "Eight years of taking your best head slaps and a bomb turns my lights out," he said with a brittle smile that quickly disappeared as he chewed his bottom lip and exhaled deeply.

"How am I gonna do this, Boss?" he said, desperate to hold on to his shaky composure.

"Same way you meet every other challenge, Anthony – head on!"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs felt Tony jump and his body tense as the door opened and Ducky and neurologist, Doctor Colby entered the room.

As Ducky took a seat by the door, Doctor Colby shuffled some papers and softly cleared his throat to alert Tony of his approach.

"Tony, it's Doctor Colby," he said. "Doctor Mallard told me that you're in pain."

"I'm fine."

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs lightly scolded.

"I have a headache," he amended reluctantly.

"Mmm, a bad one, I'd say by the look of you," Colby stated. "Where would you rate it on a scale of 1 to 10?"

"Four," Tony answered.

Gibbs sighed in exasperation. "DiNozzo!"

"Thirteen," he replied more truthfully.

"I'm going to give you something to help with the pain, it will also help you sleep," the doctor said, placing a pill in the palm of Tony's hand and reaching for a glass of water. He placed the cup into Tony's free hand and guided it slowly to his mouth before Tony baulked.

"I don't want to sleep, Doc," he said forcefully. "I need to know if I'm ever gonna see again!"

"Take the pill, Tony," the doctor instructed. "It will take 10 to 15 minutes to take effect. We can talk about the results while we wait."

He rolled the pill around the palm of his hand until he felt the light squeeze on his shoulder. He swallowed the tablet with a mouthful of water and felt the glass taken from him.

"Okay," Colby said calmly. "Let's begin."

"Wait!" Tony interrupted. "Where's Ducky – I want Ducky to hear this."

"It's alright, Anthony, I'm right here with you," Ducky said, gently patting Tony's blanketed legs.

"I guess…I guess we're ready then," Tony replied, not feeling ready at all.

Doctor Colby cleared his throat again.

"We believe you are suffering from, what is known as, Neurological Vision Impairment. This condition, also called cortical blindness, is a loss of vision resulting from an acquired brain injury," the doctor explained calmly and clearly, "The visual impairment…"

"Why don't you just call it blindness, doc?" Tony said sharply.

"Tony…" Gibbs said softly, as Tony lowered his head and took a shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry," Tony mumbled. "Please…go on."

"The visual impairment is caused by damage to the areas of the brain that are responsible for sight."

"Is it permanent?" Tony asked, his every muscle tensing in anticipation of the answer.

"NVI can be temporary or permanent depending on the degree of damage to the area of the visual cortex or posterior visual pathways of the brain. The eyes may function normally, as in your case, however, the visual systems of the brain do not consistently understand or interpret what the eyes see."

Tony swallowed convulsively, trying to rid his throat of the huge lump that had situated there.

"Doc…in my case…is it permanent?" he asked feeling a tightening in his chest.

"In short, Tony, we don't know," the doctor said. "The swelling to your brain from your skull fracture and concussion, is placing a dangerous amount of pressure on the visual cortex. If the visual cortex and optic nerves are crushed, your sight will never return. However, if your brain can recover from this injury without damaging the visual cortex, as the swelling subsides, your vision may also improve."

"So…this could be temporary?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, there are many recorded cases where the loss of sight has lasted anywhere from a few hours to a few years, with sight improving incrementally during that time," the doctor told him. "Tony's sight could be partially restored, fully restored or…it may never return at all."

Tony slumped back against the pillows, the sound of his own blood pumped furiously in his ears as he drowned in a deluge of fear and desperation. Gibbs winced internally as he watched the younger man clear his face of all expression and reinforce the walls surrounding his emotions to prevent intruders.

The pain medication began to make its presence known and keeping his eyes open was just too hard. Tony let them close and shutout the sound of the voices around him.

"Gentlemen, perhaps we should continue this discussion outside and allow Anthony to rest," Ducky said.

Tony felt Gibbs' hand leave his wrist and fought the rush of panic and the embarrassing urge to call him back as he allowed himself to slip into peaceful oblivion.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

The three men walked to the staff lounge, Ducky and Gibbs taking a seat while Doctor Colby poured them each a cup of coffee.

"Doctor, what treatment is planned for Anthony's condition?" Ducky asked.

"We'd like to keep him here for at least a few more days, ply him with strong anti-inflammatory medication, monitor the swelling to his brain and control his pain levels. It's likely he'll keep suffering from debilitating headaches until the swelling disappears completely," Colby said.

"What about surgery?" Ducky asked.

Colby winced in apology and shook his head. "Not an option, I'm afraid. The swelling of Tony's brain around the visual cortex presents the biggest danger to his sight. Even the most delicate surgery we can perform is likely to exacerbate that swelling and could make his condition worse."

"So, what's next?" Gibbs asked, making a face as he sipped the over-brewed sludge.

"I have a friend who's the administrator at an orientation centre for blind. It's one of the best facilities of its kind on the east coast and it's located right here in Maryland. I'm reasonably sure I could get Tony in."

"Is that necessary? You said this could be temporary!" Gibbs argued.

"I also said, it could be permanent," Colby countered. "But whether he regains his sight quickly or not at all, the sooner Tony starts to adapt to his blindness, the sooner he will start to regain his independence and his quality of life. For adults, one of the biggest challenges after becoming blind, are everyday activities such as meals, money handling, grooming, and basic housekeeping."

"And this facility will assist Anthony to gain these skills?" Ducky asked.

"All that and more. They'll teach Tony about mobility, how to travel from one place to another independently, he'll learn communication skills - including Braille and computer access technology and he'll receive training in the skills required for employment placement. Most importantly, he'll receive personal adjustment counselling and he'll liaise with other visually impaired people and learn that he is still more than capable of making a valuable contribution to society."

"So, to begin with, we would just need to arrange for Anthony to be driven to and from the facility each day," Ducky said.

"No, Doctor Mallard, this is a fully residential facility. Adult students attend classes from 8:00am to 3:00pm, Monday through Friday and reside in a seven-days a week dorm during the time of their training."

"Oh my, that may be a sticking point, with our young man," Ducky replied. "How long is the curriculum?"

"The length of training is individualised to meet student's needs but the average is six to nine months," Doctor Colby replied.

"No way!" Gibbs barked.

"Now, Jethro, I…"

"He'll never go for it, Duck! What's the point in sending him to this facility if his sight comes back in a few days or a few weeks?"

"And what if it never returns at all!" Ducky reasoned. "I know how you feel, Jethro, but we really must stop thinking about what Anthony wants and start thinking about what he needs!"

"He _needs_ to be with people he trusts, Ducky! He _needs_ to know he hasn't just lost everything important to him. You _really_ think we should pack him up and send him to be with strangers?"

"Whether you're willing to admit it or not, Anthony needs fulltime care and to learn new skills that will be crucial in his transition to his new life. He _needs_ this facility."

"I'm sorry," Doctor Colby interrupted. "I know this is a lot to take in but, believe me, it's in Tony's best interests. I'm more than happy to discuss this with him or to have the hospital counsellor drop by."

"Thank you, Doctor, but that won't be necessary," Ducky said. "That young man can be a stubborn cuss when he has a mind to be. I think that particular discussion would be better served coming from Anthony's friends."

"Whatever you wish," Colby replied. "I'll make a call to my friend at the centre and have Tony tentatively booked in."

"Just like that?" Gibbs growled, looking incredulously from Ducky to Colby. "He's blind but he's a grown man who can make his own decisions!"

"Of course, he is, Jethro!" Ducky scolded impatiently. "No-one is trying to force Anthony into anything he doesn't want to do."

"It may take a few weeks before a vacancy becomes available," Colby added. "In the meantime, it may help Tony make his decision if I can arrange for you all to tour the facility."

"That would be most helpful, thank you." Ducky said, watching as Colby reached for his beeping pager.

"I'm sorry, I need to check on another patient," the doctor said. "If Tony has any questions or if you're worried about his pain levels, just have me paged."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

The doctor's departure heightened the rare tension between the two old friends.

"It's too soon," Gibbs said.

"Jethro, you must believe me – in this instance, sooner is better."

"It's not the right time, Duck, he's barely hanging on."

"The good Lord blessed that young man with a wondrous ability to continually bend and never break," Ducky said. "This may well be his biggest test - but I, for one, am going to take a leaf from your book."

Gibbs raised a questioning eyebrow at the elderly ME.

"I'm going to put my money on DiNozzo!" Ducky said with a gentle smile.

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Six**

The electrical storm outside continued to rage and the rain pelted against the window of Tony's hospital room - but it was the storm raging _inside_ that had Gibbs concerned. He had known Tony wasn't ready for this and had warned Ducky not to broach the matter so soon. But Ducky and the doctors were insistent that placing Tony in a reorientation centre for the blind was the best option. Whilst Gibbs didn't disagree that Tony needed specialised help, he did disagree with the timing - Ducky and the doctors knew medical procedures - but he knew DiNozzo.

_"No!" _Tony yelled forcibly, nudging his headache up a few notches "_I don't need it!"_

"Anthony, please, you must understand," Ducky pleaded. "This is for your own good, my boy."

Tony barked out a sarcastic laugh and Gibbs winced, anticipating the reply.

"Wait a minute," Tony said, raising his index finger in the air. "I'm having a flashback - I'm eight years old and it's three weeks after my mother died. My father said those _exact_ words when he packed me off to boarding school."

"Anthony…"

"Or maybe it was when I came home for summer vacation - desperate to spend some time with my Dad - and whichever stepmother I had at the time didn't want me underfoot during the holidays. Before I could put my luggage in my room and my ass in a chair, I found myself at summer camp. Not this time, Ducky, I'm not a kid anymore - I make my own decisions!"

"Then tell me this," Ducky said patiently. "When they release you from the hospital in a few days, where will you go?"

"I have an apartment that I know like the back of my hand! I have a cleaning lady who comes in once a week," he said, trying to rub the throbbing pain from his temples. "I can pay my bills and order my groceries online and have them delivered. And I have Mrs Cantrell across the hall if I need anything."

"Well," Ducky countered. "It appears you have this all figured out. Tell me, my boy, once you get your groceries home, how will you know a can of beans from a can of soup? How do you read your bills so you can pay them online or, for that matter, how will you pay them online if you can't use your computer? How will you sort your whites from your colours when doing your laundry or know whether you are wearing matching socks? How will you read the labels on your medication, Anthony? Do you intend to stay locked up in your apartment for the rest of your days?"

_"Stop! Just…stop!" _He took some deep breaths before continuing. "I can stay in my apartment until my sight returns, _I can do this _- I know I can! Colby said this might only last days, or maybe weeks. I can cope by myself until my sight returns, I don't need the centre!" he said, hating the desperation in his voice and worn out by the emotions coursing through him.

"Oh, Anthony," Ducky said sadly. "You know, as well as I, that Doctor Colby also said that your sight may never return."

Tony's mouth tightened with mutinous anger and his body stiffened with indignation.

"It _will_ return, Ducky, I _know_ it will," he said through tightly clenched teeth.

"The reorientation centre is a marvellous facility that can teach you how to live a happy and independent life," Ducky persevered.

"_I have a happy and independent life!"_ Tony shouted, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to try to stop the searing headache.

"_Had_, my boy, you _had_ a happy and independent life, now your life may have changed forever and the sooner you start to accept that, the better it will be for you!"

Tony dropped his guard for just a few seconds but long enough for Gibbs to recognise the signs. He swallowed hard and took a moment to compose himself as his body shuddered under the onslaught of his pent-up emotions.

Gibbs watched as Tony's expression closed-down, a clear indication that he was not prepared to discuss the matter any further. Tony always had the maddening tendency to cut himself off from others when he was hurting - a self-preservation tactic learnt through necessity as a child and carried into adulthood.

"Duck," Gibbs said, softly but firmly. "He's had enough."

Ducky walked to Tony's side and placed his hand on his wrist to take his pulse. He felt Tony's body stiffen and then relax at his touch. He reached for the small plastic cup that contained Tony's medication and poured a glass of water.

"Take these, my boy," Ducky said gently, placing the pills in Tony's hand and assisting him to guide the cup of water to his mouth. "Now, lie back and try to rest."

The elderly ME cupped Tony's stubbly chin in his hand and gently lifted his face toward him.

"Anthony… I am your friend and I would _never_ put you through something like this if it weren't for the best. Whatever you decide, our friendship will never falter."

Tony nodded silently; closing his eyes he willed sleep to come quickly so he could escape the torment for a while.

"I'll see you in the morning," Ducky said sadly before gathering his hat, coat and umbrella. He threw an accusing look at Gibbs for his silence and lack of support, then sighed deeply and left the room.

Several moments passed in silence before Tony's head lifted up from the pillow.

"Boss?"

"Still here, Tony, it's late - go to sleep," he said, taking up his position in the chair and placing his hand on Tony's shoulder as the younger man settled down to sleep.

The need of support was not voiced nor was it verbally answered, and yet the feeling was exchanged and it brought comfort to them both

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Morning arrived and Tony stirred restlessly as the pounding of his relentless headache and the sharp twinge of overly tense muscles urged him from sleep. With his eyes still closed, he lay still for a moment, trying to isolate and recognise the many muted sounds of the busy hospital outside his door…the rattle of the passing hospital gurneys; the soft ding of someone's call button registering at the nurses' station; the sound of a ringing phone. It was another sound - nearer and more familiar - that caught his attention. He frowned in concentration and cocked his head slightly to listen closely but the sound disappeared.

The hand that had grounded him since the explosion suddenly started to freak him out as it moved tenderly up and down his forearm. It was then he realised the strong, callused fingers were gone, replaced by slender, gentle hands. The familiar noise sounded again and he managed the tiniest of grins as he recognised the sound of Caf-Pow being slurped through a straw.

"Abs," he said softly.

"Tony! You're awake!" Abby whispered. " I didn't wake you did I? Cos Gibbs will kill me. The last thing he said as he walked out the door was "Abs, he needs his rest, don't wake him!" she said in a growled voice.

"You didn't wake me and Gibbs would _never_ kill you," Tony said around a jaw-cracking yawn. "Where is he?"

"I sent him home to shower. He's been here since you were brought in and he's…well…a little…"

"Ripe?" Tony answered.

"You noticed too, huh?"

"The lights have gone out but I can still smell, Abs," Tony replied, sharper than he intended. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"I know," Abby replied and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "I brought you something that might help pass the time."

She opened his hand, placed his IPod across his palm and curled his fingers around it. I found it in your desk draw and thought you might like to listen to Ol' Blue Eyes."

"Gibbs?"

"No, Sinatra, silly!" Abby said, thrilled to see a tiny glimpse of Tony's sense of humour.

"Thanks, Abs," he said softly.

"Can I get you anything? How 'bout some water? The nurse brought your breakfast, are you hungry?"

"No."

Abby lifted the cover from the breakfast dishes. "Eww…I don't blame you, that looks like it belongs in my lab in a Petrie dish. I can call McGee and ask him to pick up a couple of breakfast burritos? I know you love those, or maybe some pancakes and a hazelnut latte? Or …"

"Abs," Tony said, desolately. "I don't want anything."

"Nothing?" she replied, desperate to help her friend.

"I could use…" He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "I guess…I could probably use a hug."

Without hesitation Abby perched herself on the bed and pulled him to her with one arm, while the other rubbed soothing strokes along his tense back. He nuzzled his face into the juncture of her neck and shoulder and she felt the warm huffs of his breath on her neck as he relished the overwhelming comfort of her unconditional friendship and love.

"You _never_ have to ask for one of these," she said, surprising herself with the strength and calmness of her voice. "I'm here, Tony, whenever you need me - I'm here."

He pulled out of the hug, leaned back against the pillows and sighed. "They tell you about the blind centre?"

"Ducky told me."

"You think I should go?"

She took both of his hands in hers, intertwining their fingers.

"Since I started working with Mortimer and helping to train guide dogs, I've met some of the most amazing sightless people who all live wonderful, independent lives and they _all _went to reorientation centres."

"Yeah but Abs, those people are permanently blind, Colby said that my sight could return at any time!"

"Aw, Tony, what if it doesn't," she said softly but firmly.

"It will."

"Tony…"

"It _will_, Abs! It has to, I _can't _live like this!" he said with equal amounts of desperation and determination.

"You don't _have_ to live like this, Tony, that's what the blind centre is all about! You'll learn new skills, like reading and writing and moving around independently and we'll all come and visit you and, who knows, maybe one day you'll have a service dog like Mortimer."

"_I don't want a damn dog, Abs, I want my freaking sight back!"_

She pulled him in for another firm hug. "I know you do - we all want that for you."

"I can't do it, Abs. Saying I'll go to the centre is like giving up hope that I'll ever see again. I can't do that - it's...it's all I have left."

She broke the hug and placed both hands firmly on either side of his face, feeling the stubble of a few days growth beneath her fingers.

"You listen to me, mister," she said firmly. "We're family and as long as we're around…you'll always have us."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Palmer exited the elevator on the operations room level and walked toward the bullpen when he spotted McGee at his desk.

"Hey, McGee," he said cheerfully.

"Morning, Palmer," McGee replied. "I was just headed down to see Ducky and get an update on Tony."

"Oh, Doctor Mallard isn't in. Jordan, I mean, Doctor Hampton is filling in for a few days so Doctor Mallard can help with Tony."

"Do you know how he's doing?"

"Doctor Mallard?"

"No, Jimmy – Tony!" McGee answered impatiently.

"Oh," Jimmy said with a self-effacing shake of the head. "Doctor Mallard said that Tony is still suffering from the effects of the concussion and has very bad headaches. The doctors are treating him with anti-inflammatory meds and strong painkillers that make him sleep a lot of the time. All being well, he may be released from hospital in a couple of days."

"That soon? I'd have thought he'd be there a lot longer."

"When someone loses their sight, even temporarily, it's often the best course to get them out of hospital and into a transitional centre as soon as possible."

"He's not gonna like that," McGee said.

"Not at all," Jimmy agreed. "So…have you, er, seen him yet?"

"No, not yet. To tell you the truth, I feel kinda bad...I've kinda been putting it off."

"I know what you mean. Doctor Mallard said Tony's extremely distressed and won't even consider entering the blind centre."

"That's exactly why I haven't seen him yet. Tony's always so 'up', ya know? Rarely lets life, or the job, get him down…I guess I'm not sure I'll know what to say to him," McGee replied. "Whenever he's been laid up before, I brought him some magazines or DVD's – I haven't got a clue what to do for him this time."

"I think I have an idea that may cheer him up," Jimmy said thoughtfully, stroking his imaginary beard. "If you give me a hand to arrange it, we can go see him tomorrow."

"You think he'll like it?"

"Well…put it this way…he'll either love it or he'll kill us!"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Ziva's doctors were pleased that her broken arm had begun to heal so well and she had passed her follow-up examination with flying colours. She hadn't intended to make the side trip but, inexplicably, she made her way to the nurse's station on Tony's ward. She _definitely_ hadn't expected the nurse to tell her that Tony was currently alone - yet, suddenly, she found herself standing in the corridor outside his room. She silently opened the door and edged just inside finding the curtains drawn and the room in darkness.

The bed head was raised and he was sleeping with his head lolled to one side, his lips slightly parted and frown lines indicating a headache had followed him into sleep. She was relieved his eyes were closed - she couldn't bear to see those expression-filled eyes looking sightlessly at her.

"Oh God, Tony," she whispered, then placed her fingers to her mouth when a strangled sob escaped and the sound caused him to shift in his sleep. He frowned again and turned his head in her direction.

"Ziva?" he called softly.

She stood completely still, scarcely breathing, and waited until he settled into sleep again. She wasn't ready for this – what could she possibly say to him that could accurately measure the depth of her regret? Would he even listen, knowing that she had been responsible for his blindness?

She silently opened the door a few inches and backed her way out, then closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the wooden panels.

"I am sorry, Tony," she whispered again as she took a shuddering breath.

"You tell him that?"

She spun quickly at the sound of the voice and her eyes met an icy blue glare.

"Gibbs! I…I came to see Tony…to explain…but he is sleeping."

"Kinda like to hear that explanation myself, Ziva," Gibbs replied, coldly. "Wait here."

He quietly looked in on Tony and confirmed that the younger man was still sleeping. Placing the freshly purchased coffee and pizza on Tony's bedside table, he closed the door behind him and turned to Ziva.

"This way," he said curtly and directed her to the empty staff lounge where he closed the door and turned to her. "Why did you go back into that house?"

"I went back in to disarm the bomb," she said.

"Why?"

"Because it is what I am trained to do! You have asked me to do so in the past, I did not see the difference!"

"This time, Ziva, the bomb wasn't in a crowded plaza or wasn't about to destroy crucial evidence. The perp was dead, the situation had been contained and no one was in danger."

Using years of Mossad conditioning she forcibly pushed her feelings of guilt and remorse aside as she tried to explain her actions.

"Gibbs, please believe me, I did not know that Tony would come back inside the house," she said.

Gibbs huffed a humourless laugh.

"He's been your partner for four years, Ziva! Why the hell didn't you know?"

Without wavering an inch from his icy decorum, Gibbs, impaled her with the intensity of his glare.

"He followed you back into the warehouse when you disarmed Sharif's bomb, he stood by your side in the plaza when you defused another and he allowed himself to be captured by a _damn_ terrorist cell in Somalia to avenge what he thought was your death. Why the _hell_ didn't you know that he'd follow you into the house!"

"Gibbs, I…" Her words suddenly failed her as she saw the barely contained anger in his eyes.

"He's loyal as a damn Saint Bernard, Ziva," Gibbs said resignedly. "What's it gonna take for you to realise that?"

"I…I don't…" she stammered, completely unprepared for the disconcerting calmness of his voice and the coldness in his eyes.

"I need to get back to Tony," he said flatly. "You can expect a call from Vance. An agent was seriously injured - there'll be an inquiry."

"I understand."

"That makes one of us, Ziva," Gibbs said coldly. "Cos I sure as hell don't."

Then he turned abruptly and returned to Tony's room.

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Seven**

With the Turner trial reconvening and Gibbs required to be in attendance for the jury's verdict, Ducky had taken up residence in the visitor's chair beside Tony's bed at 0700. For the first time since he had met the gregarious, young ex-detective, the conversation was minimal, stilted and forced.

Tony struggled through his breakfast, coolly refusing any assistance from Ducky and intent on showing the ME he was capable of doing for himself. He eventually settled for a piece of cold, soggy toast, knowing that he could manage it easily.

With the breakfast tray removed, Tony had turned to his IPod to avoid further discussion about the reorientation centre. Though Ducky understood that Tony was still reeling from the devastating loss of his sight - he couldn't help but feel rebuffed.

At 0825, Ducky tapped gently on Tony's arm and tried to ignore the expression of irritation and apprehension that reflected on the younger man's face as he removed his ear buds.

"Anthony, the orderly will be here shortly to take you for more scans," Ducky said. "I need to go to the office to sign some reports, however, young Timothy has assured me that he will be here when you get back and will stay until Jethro returns from court."

"Fine," Tony said with an indifferent shrug.

Recalling the distress and disorientation Tony experienced when he had the initial scans, Ducky added.

"If you would rather I stay with you while you have your tests, I'm more than happy to alter my plans," he added.

"I'm fine, Ducky, I can manage by myself. I don't need someone fussing over me every minute of the day," Tony replied in an irritated tone.

He replaced his ear buds and returned to his music as Ducky despondently resumed his seat.

The orderly arrived, moments later, and assisted Tony into the wheelchair.

"I'll see you later, my boy," Ducky said softly and watched as Tony was wheeled out of the room and down the corridor.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

"Special Agent David, thanks for coming in. Take a seat," Vance said.

"If you do not mind, Director, I would prefer to stand."

"Take a seat," Vance replied firmly, unwilling to relinquish the psychological advantage. "Your medical report says your arm is healing well."

"Yes, thank you."

"The doctor's have recommended another week's leave before you resume light duties," Vance read from the file.

"That is correct."

"Approved," he said, signing his name at the bottom of the page. He closed the medical file and replaced it with another, flipping it open and shuffling documents before making eye contact with her.

"Tell me what happened after you and McGee took the shots that brought down Petty Officer Briggs," he said.

"I am sure you have read my written report, Director."

"Indulge me!"

"Once we had established that Petty Officer Briggs was dead, Special Agent DiNozzo instructed McGee to move the vehicles away from the house and to call Doctor Mallard to collect the body," Ziva summarized with no inflection in her voice.

"And then?"

"Tony…Special Agent DiNozzo asked me to go to the back of the building and ensure that agents Farrell and Preston stayed clear of the house."

"He asked you?" Vance questioned. "He said _'Hey Ziva, how 'bout running round the back of the building and asking Farrell and Preston to stay clear of the house?_'"

Ziva shifted her weight uncomfortably in the chair. "No, Director, he did not ask like that."

"So, what was it, David? A request? A favour? An enquiry?"

"It was more of a direction," Ziva replied stiffly.

"A direction from a senior agent would make it an order, would it not?"

Ziva returned Vance's unflinching glare.

"Let's move on. Was there anything that Special Agent DiNozzo did or said that made you believe that you were not included in his _direction_?"

"No, Director, there was not."

"In fact, according to the transcript, DiNozzo's exact words were '_I want everyone well away from that house until after the bomb squad clears it!'_ Were these words not clear to you, Special Agent David?"

"They were very clear."

"And yet you, a probationary agent, chose to ignore them and in doing so, defied the order of a senior agent in critical situation," Vance exhaled loudly and met Ziva's gaze once again. "I am aware that things between you and DiNozzo have been tense since your return from Somalia but I was assured, by both of you, that it would not interfere with your ability to work together."

"This had nothing to do with my time in Somalia!" Ziva answered curtly.

"Then tell me why?"

"When I left the front of the building to ensure Farrell and Preston were clear, I saw Special Agent DiNozzo entering the house. I have been trained by Mossad to disarm explosive ordnance, Tony has not!"

"Is that what this was? You thought you knew better? I'd have thought all those years with Mossad would have also taught you to follow orders," Vance said gruffly. "Yet when DiNozzo specifically told you, and I quote, '_I gave you an order. Get the hell outta there!'_ you told him to stop distracting you."

"I almost had the device disarmed. When I realised I did not have enough time to do so, I left the building immediately. I was unaware that Special Agent DiNozzo had re-entered the house."

"He re-entered the house to drag your ass out of there!"

"Yes," Ziva said softly, averting her eyes to the hands she clasped tightly in her lap.

"As you are no doubt aware, Agent David, the chain of command is in place for a reason," Vance said firmly. "It is no less important here at NCIS than it was at Mossad. You knew it and you ignored it and as a direct result of your insubordination, I have an agent in hospital who may have permanently lost his sight!"

Ziva lifted her head and met the director's gaze head on.

"I'm placing a formal reprimand in your file and, effective immediately, you can consider yourself on suspension." Vance said. "The suspension will run concurrently with your medical leave. Whether or not your probationary status is terminated will depend on a later discussion with Special Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo, when DiNozzo's feeling up to it."

Vance rose to his feet. "I'll need your firearms and your badge."

Ziva removed the gun from her hip holster and the other from her ankle holster and placed them on Vance's desk with her badge.

"That will be all," he said and watched as the Israeli pivoted and walked out of the office.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Just like the first time he'd had the MRI and CT scans, the injection of the contrast agent exacerbated his nausea and dizziness, leaving him exhausted and craving sleep. As the orderly assisted him back into his bed, he vaguely heard McGee greet him, telling him to get some rest.

He woke again to darkness and cursed that his loss of vision and the significant amount of time he spent in a drug-induced sleep, made it extremely difficult to keep track of time. He felt his face flush with embarrassment when he realized how bereft he felt not to have the comforting hand on his shoulder or arm when he woke. He recalled that McGee had been in his room when he'd returned from having the scans.

"Probie?" he called softy, sighing when silence was the only reply.

'_Get a grip, Anthony,'_ he thought. _'What's the big deal? You can do this!'_

Not bothering to open his eyes, he lay quietly, recalling his heated discussion with Ducky about the reorientation centre. He knew that Ducky meant well but he was tired of others making life-changing choices on his behalf. He had to believe his sight would return, sooner rather than later, yet each time he opened his eyes to the inky blackness, his hopes were crushed again and he drifted further into a world of despair.

A loud crash expelled him abruptly from his brooding, as something banged into the wall outside his room. He turned his head toward the sound as two familiar voices filtered through the closed door.

"Shhhh! Tony's sleeping, Palmer! You want to scare him to death? Be careful!."

"I'm trying!" Jimmy replied. "This wheelchair has a mind of it's own."

"So…you got it?"

"I got it," Palmer replied.

"And it's all arranged?"

"It's all arranged."

"Okay, let's do it - just remember what Ducky said, don't fuss over him and don't overwhelm him."

"Hey, McGee, you may be the federal agent but I'm the med student. Of course I won't overwhelm him - I'll just be myself."

"That's where this plan may come undone," McGee drawled sceptically.

"What's wrong with me being myself?" Jimmy asked with a hint of indignation. "Tony likes me."

"You can be yourself," McGee acquiesced. "Just try to be a little less yourself than usual. Okay?"

With his eyes still closed, Tony couldn't help the hint of a smile from appearing on his face and, as he listened to the comedy team of Palmer and McGee, he wondered what on earth they were up to. He feigned sleep as he heard the door open and the two younger men enter but he couldn't prevent the startled jerk at the loud collision between wheelchair and rollaway table.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" McGee admonished in a hushed voice. "Did you take an awkward pill or something?"

"No," Jimmy answered innocently. "I've always been like this."

"Like poetry in motion, Palmer," Tony's voice said softly.

"Tony! We didn't wake you, did we?"

"It's fine, Jimmy," Tony said, shifting to sit up a little in the bed. "What's up, guys?"

"No questions, there's no time to explain - all will be revealed in good time. You're gonna need to put these on," McGee said, placing a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt into Tony's hands.

"They're mine?"

"They're yours - I cracked the combination on your locker," McGee said smugly.

"You cracked my combo?" Tony repeated.

"Come on, Tony, it wasn't rocket science – 36 – 22 – 34."

"Pamela Anderson?" Jimmy guessed.

"Nope, Carmen Electra," Tony answered with a halfway genuine grin and a low, throaty purr.

"Nice choice!" Jimmy replied with an enthusiastic nod.

Suddenly Tony's grin disappeared. "Wait, if you were in my locker, then you would have seen…"

"Yep, saw it," McGee confirmed.

"It's not mine," Tony said quickly. "It belongs to a friend, I just haven't returned it yet."

"Um, yeah…I kinda figured that when I saw the French lace and the double D cup. Come on, take my arm and haul your ass outta that bed, we're running out of time."

"Time for what?" he asked again allowing McGee to steady him.

"If you must know - Palmer and I are busting you outta here for an hour or so," McGee said, placing one hand on Tony's shoulder as he carefully lifted one foot and then the other and slipped the sweat pants over his pyjamas bottoms.

"What about Gibbs and the nurses?" Tony asked. "Do they know about this?"

"Know about what?" McGee replied innocently, glimpsing the first real smile he'd seen from Tony.

"It's all arranged, Tony," Palmer said. "I know the nurse on duty. She's studying to be a doctor and we have some of the same classes. I let Kristen borrow my class notes and she lets me…well, er, never mind what she lets me do."

"You know Kristen, Jimbo?" Tony asked. "She sounds hot!"

"She is hot!" McGee and Palmer answered simultaneously.

"Anyway, she's gonna cover for us," Palmer said, suddenly very serious. " Listen to me, Tony, I have your meds with me. If you start to feel nauseous or unwell or if this is too much for you – you need to tell me right away and we'll get you straight back here. Is that clear?"

Tony's reply of "Crystal clear, Doctor Palmer," was barely audible as he pulled the t-shirt over his head and McGee guided him to the wheelchair and helped him sit.

"Palmer, check that the coast is clear," McGee said.

Tony heard the door open and Palmer reply, "We are good to go!" then McGee pushed the chair out of the room and into the elevator. They pressed the button to the ground floor and guided the wheelchair through the lobby, stopping just before the door.

"Tony, you should put these on," Jimmy said, placing Tony's designer sunglasses in his hands. "I just want to make sure your eyes are fully protected."

Tony slipped the glasses on and McGee continued to guide the wheelchair, across the sidewalk, to the passenger side of the car that Palmer had illegally parked at the entrance. Opening the door of the car they helped Tony to stand and then eased him into the front passenger seat.

Tony's jaw dropped as he ran his hands over the upholstery and dashboard.

"Is this…?"

"Yep, this is your Mustang – the tops down, she's hand-washed, waxed and looking a million bucks, even if I do say so myself," Palmer grinned.

Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat then steeled his expression. He felt torn between the heartache of never being able to drive his much-loved car again and embarrassed by the care and kindness being shown by the younger men.

"Come on, Tony," McGee said ensuring his partner was buckled in safely. "We're burning daylight!"

Tony grinned, "You quoting the Duke, Probie?"

"Just this once, don't get used to it?" he replied. "Just sit back and relax!"

Tony listened as Palmer started the engine and McGee stowed the wheelchair and climbed into the back seat - twisting and curling his lanky frame in the limited space as the car pulled smoothly out of the hospital parking lot.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

The movement of the vehicle had proved to be more disorienting than Tony imagined and he leaned his head against the headrest to offset it. Palmer inserted a CD into the player and the sounds of Tony's favourite jazz musician, Miles Davis, filled the car.

After stopping to collect their pre-ordered lunch of pizza and sodas, they drove the five miles from Bethesda Hospital to Glen Echo Park and found a nice sunny spot by the banks of the Potomac.

Despite McGee and Palmer's earlier misgivings and Tony's earlier disheartened state, the conversation was easy and relaxed – although all three men stayed well away from the topic of Tony's sight, Ziva and the reorientation centre. Tony revelled in the feel of the hot sun on his face and the light summer breeze, blowing across the river and ruffling his hair.

With lunch eaten and Tony showing signs that his headache had returned, Palmer placed the meds in Tony's hand and watched him swallow them down. His depleted energy levels were rapidly dissipating as Palmer and McGee assisted him back into the car and he leaned his head back again, already fighting fatigue and the pull of the meds.

"Don't go to sleep yet," McGee said. "I don't fancy carrying you back to your room."

They resumed their positions in the vehicle for the return trip to the hospital when Palmer turned to McGee.

"Hey, McGee, would you mind keeping your legs on the other side of the car, you kicked me in the back all the way over here."

"Really? Well, here's an idea, Palmer. Why don't you get in the back and I'll drive?" McGee shot back.

"I'm 6 feet tall!"

"I'm nearly six two!"

"Ah, yes," Palmer said, smugly. "But I'm six feet tall and _I_ have the keys."

"Well, _I_ have a gun!" McGee countered.

"Ah…guys?" Tony said, wearily. "Not that I don't appreciate all this…but if you don't stop bickering, _I'm_ gonna drive back."

"Start the car, Palmer!" McGee quipped as he manipulated his long legs into a semi-comfortable position and they headed back to Bethesda.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Tony was almost boneless by the time they manoeuvred him from the car to the wheelchair and back inside the hospital. They took the elevator to Tony's floor, anxiously looking from right to left as they stealthily wheeled their sleeping hostage back toward his room.

A group of doctors exiting the staff lounge had McGee and Palmer quickly side-stepping into a large linen storeroom. They exchanged identical panicked looks when they realised that they had left the wheelchair in the corridor. Throwing the storeroom door open and shouldering each other out of the way, they hurriedly dragged the chair inside with them and came perilously close to pitching the slumbering senior field agent to the floor.

They leant with their backs to the door, chests heaving with exertion and adrenalin, until the sound of the doctor's voices faded into the distance. Surreptitiously, McGee opened the door and checked the corridor, noting it was clear both ways.

"Let's go!" he whispered to Palmer and, together, they recklessly pushed the wheelchair into the corridor and made a dash for Tony's room. Arriving at their destination, they closed the door to the darkened room behind them and laughed in relief at their close call. Regaining their breath, they crouched either side of the wheelchair to wake Tony.

"Why is it so dark in here?" McGee said to Palmer. "Get the light."

Before Palmer could move an inch, the room was flooded in light and the young men froze as they found themselves squinting through the brightness at the silhouetted figure of a man.

"Wanna tell me where the hell you've been?" A gruff, but all too recognisable, voice asked.

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Eight**

Ever-present cup of coffee in hand, Gibbs leaned back in the visitor's chair and watched the sleeping form of his agent. Tony had hardly twitched a muscle since returning from his starring role in 'Jim and Tim's Excellent Adventure' to Glen Echo Park. The nursing staff had tried to wake him for dinner the previous night and for breakfast this morning but, each time, he mumbled incoherently and went right back to sleep. Sleep and rest were important at this stage of his recovery, so they let him be.

Gibbs shook his head and his lips quirked in a smile as he remembered the twin "deer in headlights" looks presented to him by McGee and Palmer. He'd bitten down hard on the inside of his cheek, to keep his staid and taciturn reputation in tact, as the younger men stuttered and stammered their explanation and waited for Gibbs to unleash his wrath. For once, he didn't have the heart.

Totally unaware of the drama going on around him, they put DiNozzo to bed where he slept peacefully – the fresh air, the company of friends and the pull of strong pain medication all adding to his near comatose state. But for the first time since the accident, his face wasn't marred by the lines of pain or haunted by the worry of things to come. Despite their unconventional means, Gibbs knew that McGee and Palmer had given Tony what nobody else had managed – a little piece of normality, a refuge in a raging storm.

He stood up, wincing as he stretched the abused muscles in his back and legs and walked stiff-legged to the window. He had ridden his own emotional roller-coaster since DiNozzo had been hurt – holding his breath in hope each time the younger man woke and opened his eyes, then feeling the brutal stab of disappointment when the split-second falter of Tony's façade revealed the crestfallen, broken expression that told him his agent remained sightless.

'_Come on, DiNozzo!'_ he silently urged the younger man. _'If you can beat the pneumonic plague, you can beat this.' _

He knew he was being impractical – there were no guarantees - he also knew that Ducky was pissed as hell that he hadn't been more supportive in persuading Tony to enrol in the centre. But the more he watched Tony, fiercely clutching to the belief that his vision would be restored, the more he believed it himself. He'd seen a lot of emotions in his senior field agent's eyes over the years – from excitement, humour and empathy to determination, anger, even hate – but the rare, fleeting glimpses of fear and desolation tore at his own composure.

Ducky's arrival drew him from his introspection and he watched as the ME picked up Tony's chart from the end of the bed and reviewed his condition from a medical perspective. His eyebrows knitted in concern as he listened to Tony's deep, even breaths and realised he was sleeping.

"Is Anthony alright?" he asked. "His chart says that he missed dinner and breakfast."

"He's fine, Duck, had a big day yesterday, that's all."

"Good Lord, it was the scans again, wasn't it? I knew I should have stayed with him."

"Scans went fine. The doc came by last night with the results but sleeping beauty wouldn't wake up. Said he'd come back later this afternoon."

"Yes, well…I suppose the emotional trauma of the last few days was bound to catch up with him sometime."

"Yep," Gibbs said, not bothering to mention Tony's unauthorised 'day release.'

"Has Doctor Colby mentioned when Anthony can leave the hospital?"

"When he gives us the results," Gibbs replied. "Duck, ya think you could lay off the reorientation centre today?"

"Jethro! I cannot, in good conscience, call myself Anthony's friend, and then cease to do what I fervently believe is in that young man's best interest?"

"You know DiNozzo - the more he feels pressured into doing something, the more he'll dig his heels in."

"And you think sitting by his bedside feeding him false hope, is a better idea?" Ducky said tersely.

"Any hope is good hope, Duck."

"Not if it prevents the boy from coming to terms with his condition and seeking help! Or perhaps it's you who needs to come to terms with Anthony's condition."

They turned quickly toward the bed as Tony muttered in his sleep and settled down again.

"Thanks for staying with him, Doctor," Gibbs said, utilising the rarely used salutation and shutting down the conversation as he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. "I'll be back once I've seen the director."

"Jethro?" Ducky said, frowning in puzzlement in Tony's direction. "If I didn't know better, I would swear that Anthony has a touch of sunburn on his cheeks!"

Gibbs feigned innocence and shrugged his shoulders.

"Must be the lighting," he replied and with one more glance at Tony, he left the hospital for the Navy Yard.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00

As he approached the door of her apartment, he faltered slightly, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Ziva was fiercely private of her personal life and even more so of her feelings. He recalled, when they had returned home from Somalia - it was weeks before she contacted any of them. While he wouldn't presume to understand the pain and torment she had endured - both situations brought their own kind of suffering. Taking a deep breath, he pressed her doorbell and waited – a moment later the door opened.

"McGee?"

"Hey, Ziva, hope I'm not intruding," he said.

"I was just reading," she replied. "The doorman did not tell me you were here."

"I asked him not to - flashed the badge," McGee said awkwardly. "I wasn't sure if you'd see me. So…can I come in?"

"Oh, excuse me," she said stepping back to allow him to enter her apartment. "Can I get you something?"

"Yes…as a matter of fact, you can give me access to your kitchen."

"You want to use my kitchen?"

"_We_ want to use your kitchen – I supplied the ingredients and you supply the kitchen. I'm guessing you had a light breakfast when you came back from your run around 5 this morning – so, this is brunch!"

"You know me far too well, Special Agent McGee," she said with a sad smile.

"You're my partner, Ziva," he said, and watched her smile disappear.

McGee placed the grocery bag on the counter and started to unpack the items.

"Better put this in the freezer for now," he said.

"Ice cream, McGee?" Ziva said, raising an eyebrow.

"Not just any ice cream, Ziva, that is chocolate fudge ripple ice cream – perfect with banana cinnamon pancakes - my Grandma McGee's cure all for everything from a skinned knee to a broken heart."

"I do not have a skinned knee nor do I have a broken heart, McGee."

"No, you don't – but you _are_ upset and I'm sure Grandma McGee won't mind – just this once."

He returned his attention to the grocery bag and continued to unpack as she retrieved a frying pan, two large bowls and a whisk from her cupboards.

"Was getting kinda worried about you," he said. "I've left a few messages."

"I am sorry McGee, I have not felt like talking."

"I heard about the suspension, Ziva, I'm sorry."

She shrugged her shoulders casually but, for a fleeting moment, McGee saw the pain and worry reflected in the depths of her brown eyes.

"It was to be expected. Tony was in command, I should have heeded his instructions."

"So…why didn't you?" he asked, combining the dry ingredients in one bowl while in a separate bowl, he added the milk, sugar, oil, egg, and vanilla extract and handed it to Ziva. "Whisk!"

Raising an eyebrow at his unusual bossy attitude, she picked up the utensil and began to whisk.

"I do not know really know," she replied, averting her eyes.

McGee pursed his lips thoughtfully, then tipped the dry ingredients into Ziva's bowl.

"Whisk again!" he said, watching her comply as he started to chop the bananas. "Mind if I venture an opinion?"

"Do I have a choice?" she asked, only half joking.

"Not if you want me to share my Grandma's pancakes!"

"That is blackmail, McGee," she said pointing a dripping whisk at him.

"Hey, whatever works," he replied, finally enticing a smile from her.

"Then tell me, McGee, what is your opinion?"

"I think, it's the probie factor," he said matter-of-factly.

"What is this probie factor?" she asked.

McGee barked out a laugh. "Come on, Ziva, I've watched you, I know how it riles you every time Tony calls you that. Hey, if anyone should know how that feels, it's me, right? He's called me Probie for the last six years, probably always will."

He poured the chopped bananas into the pancake batter Ziva had mixed. "Whisk!" he said again as he prepared the frypan and switched on the coffee percolator.

"I was a Mossad Officer for many years, McGee!" she said, placing the prepared batter on the kitchen counter. "I have specialist training in fields that Tony has not."

"I know that, Ziva. We all have training in diverse fields - that's what makes us a good team! I'm sure that Tony knows that, too!"

"I thought that, perhaps, if I could disarm the bomb, then Tony would stop treating me like a rookie!"

"I know that Tony ribs you about the probationary agent stuff but, honestly, I can't recall one time when we were in a critical situation and he didn't respect your abilities," McGee replied. "Tony was in command - he had to make a call and he made it. He didn't think there was time for you to disarm the bomb – he was right!"

"And now he is paying the price for my mistake, yes?"

"Yes, he is," McGee said plainly. "But if you think we all blame you for Tony losing his sight, you're wrong. I know Ducky and Palmer agree with me, that this was just a horrible accident."

"And Gibbs, Abby and Director Vance?"

"Okay…now they're gonna need a little more convincing," McGee quipped.

"How is he, McGee?" Ziva asked with genuine concern.

"It's hard to know with Tony. He only lets you see what he wants you to see," McGee replied. "I spent a little time with him yesterday. He's doing his best, under the circumstances, but he's got to be terrified his sight will never return."

"He said that?"

"Tony would never say that - not to me anyway – let's just call it a gut feeling. You really need to go see him, Ziva."

"I cannot, McGee - not yet."

As the transitory battle with her countenance ended, he realised how far removed she was from the hardened, Mossad assassin who joined them almost five years ago.

"You know, Ziva, we're supposed to let the batter rest for 30 minutes before we cook the pancakes," McGee said. "What say we start cooking, I'm starving!"

"What about Grandma McGee's famous recipe?"

"I won't tell her about this, if you don't tell Tony that I was wearing your apron," he said.

"Deal. I will get the plates."

"And don't forget the ice cream!"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

"Ducky?" Tony said sleepily.

"Good morning, Anthony!" Ducky said. "I thought you were going to sleep the day away – do you realise that you slept through last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast?"

Tony's eyes widened in surprise and cleared his voice nervously, knowing that Ducky would be furious to learn that he'd left the hospital yesterday without permission.

"I…um…was really tired and…I…er…had a big lunch," he replied, wincing as the explanation sounded lame to his own ears.

"I see," Ducky added a little sceptically. "Can I get you something?"

"Water?"

"Of course."

Ducky was immediately on his feet and reaching for the pitcher on the bedside table.

Pausing, he turned to the rollaway table and moved it into position in front of Tony, then placed the plastic cup into Tony's left hand. He wrapped Tony's long fingers around it and manoeuvred the top finger just over the rim of the cup. He positioned the pitcher on the table and placed Tony's right hand on the handle.

"Why don't you try to pour yourself a glass?" Ducky coaxed gently.

"Er…Ducky?" Tony said nervously.

"Lift the cup to the lip of the jug and pour until you feel the liquid touch your finger," Ducky said, watching Tony's dubious expression. "You can do this, Anthony…trust me!"

Tentatively, he moved the cup into position and began to fill it with water from the jug, stopping as soon as he felt it touch his finger.

"Well done, lad!" Ducky crowed proudly. "This is just one of many things the centre can teach you. Although many tasks are quite challenging and require a great deal of practise and concentration, many are as simple as placing your finger inside that cup."

At the mention of the reorientation centre, Tony's expression clouded over and Ducky knew he had to speak quickly before the stubborn young man slammed the window of opportunity closed.

"I have a small gift for you, Anthony," he said, placing a small box in Tony's hand.

"A gift?"

"Yes, I understand that keeping track of time is one of the most frustrating aspects of losing one's sight, so I bought you a little something that will help."

Tony opened the box and removed a watch.

"Ducky?" he said.

"Oh, I know it's not as grand as that Cartier timepiece you usually wear but I want you to press the small button located on the side at the three o'clock mark."

Tony gently eased his fingers to 3 o'clock; lightly pressed the button and felt the watch crystal flip open, allowing him access to the hands.

"Now then..." Ducky said. "I know that they have talking watches these days with an automated watch to tell you what time it is, but I think these are more stylish, more…DiNozzo!"

"Tell me how to do it?"

"There are raised dots situated at every number on the face. The numbers 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 and 11 all have one dot that marks their position. The numbers 3, 6, and 9 have two dots marking their position, while the number twelve has three. Can you tell me what time it is, Anthony?"

Ducky watched anxiously as Tony's brow creased in concentration and his fingers ghosted lightly over the face of the watch.

"Ten-twenty?" Tony answered uncertainly.

"Got it first try!" Ducky exclaimed, gently removing the watch from Tony's fingers, resetting the time and handing it back. "Let's try again, shall we?"

Tony took the watch again, feeling with his fingers but seeing with his mind.

"Eleven…thirty-five," he said a little more confidently.

"Two from two, my good man!" Ducky said, with more than a modicum of pride. "I had no doubt that you'd be a quick study!"

"How do I tell AM from PM?" Tony asked.

"Ah, for that, you use these," Ducky said, touching warm fingertips to Tony's ears. "Anthony, listen to the world around you, both inside this building and outside in the streets. You tell me…is it 10-20 AM or PM?"

He listened closely for a few moments before giving his answer.

"It's AM."

"What did you hear that led you to that decision?" Ducky asked.

"Outside, I heard birds and the traffic sounds heavier, plus I thought I heard a jackhammer, like there's a construction site somewhere nearby."

"Excellent, my boy! Now, what about inside the hospital?"

"I heard the ding of the elevator and the normal ringing of the phones at the nurses' station – they usually switch off the sound of the elevator at night and the nurses' phones have a quieter ring-tone at night."

"And tell me, how did you know that I was here when you woke this morning?"

"I know the scent of your cologne and could smell the peppermint tea," Tony replied.

"Now that's the young investigator I remember! You're already starting to compensate the loss of your sight by increasing your usage of your other senses." Ducky enthused then frowned as Tony dropped his head and averted his face. "Anthony?"

"I'm still not going to the centre, Ducky. I know you think I should, but I just can't - not when my sight could return tomorrow! I just need a few of these…skills to help me until my sight returns."

Ducky sighed heavily. He didn't know what hurt him more – extinguishing Tony's hope or trying to persuade him to do something that he didn't want to do. He was terribly concerned that Tony's denial would only lead to a heavier fall and a greater heartache if his sight never returned.

"I'll make you a deal, young man," he said. "You agree to come to the centre with me next week - _just _to visit - and I'll look into some other techniques that may assist you in the meantime."

"Deal," he said, reaching out his hand in the general direction of Ducky's voice. The ME clasped Tony's hand between both of his in a warm handshake.

"I'm sorry, Ducky," Tony said. "I shouldn't have yelled at you the other day – I know you're just trying to help."

"Don't apologize for your anger or your grief at what you've lost, my dear Anthony, but never forget what you still have."

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Nine**

"You wanted to see me, Director?"

"Yes, Gibbs, take a seat," Vance replied, noting the tiredness etched into the lead agent's face. "I hear we got a conviction in the Turner case. Job well done."

Gibbs nodded in reply.

"I also heard that Turner's father caused a scene - threatening the life of an agent is a federal offence. You want him charged?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Was a heat of the moment thing – he was just letting off steam."

Vance nodded abruptly and changed the subject.

"I spoke to DiNozzo's specialist, yesterday but how do you think he's doing?" the director asked.

"Not great. Up one minute, down the next. Doc might let him home later today."

"It's a tough break, more so since they can't give him an accurate prognosis," Vance continued. "Doctor Colby said DiNozzo's refusing to attend the reorientation centre."

"He's convinced his loss of sight is a short term thing. Wants to go home to his own apartment – I can't say that I blame him."

"Not very practical."

"It's all he's got at the moment, Leon!" Gibbs replied sharply. "The way he sees it, his whole life has been snatched away."

"His life's not gone, Gibbs - it's just gonna be a hell of a lot different."

"Try telling him that."

"From what Colby tells me, a vacancy at the centre won't become available for four weeks?"

Gibbs nodded in confirmation.

"The agency is willing to arrange some part-time, home-based rehabilitation but it will be a short term thing – a few weeks at most but it will tide him over until he enters the reorientation centre," Vance said, leaning forward in his chair. "In the meantime, we need to discuss his employment situation."

Gibbs felt his gut tighten and he folded his arms defensively across his chest.

"Obviously, DiNozzo's going to need someone with him around the clock, to help him adjust," Vance said. "I know you want that to be you but I can't spare you both long term. I can give you two weeks full time leave and two weeks on half days but after that, DiNozzo's either going to have to attend the reorientation centre or you'll have to make alternate arrangements."

"Understood," Gibbs said, grateful for the understanding. "You given any thought to Tony's future with the agency?"

"DiNozzo is physically unable to perform his assigned duties as a field agent. However, as his employer, NCIS has an obligation under the Americans with Disabilities Act to re-train and place him in an alternate position within the agency."

"Such as?"

"Initially, I thought about a position in Personnel but realised the tedium, and an hour with Dolores Bromstead, would drive him around the twist. Not to mention the chaos to be had by throwing a seemingly vulnerable DiNozzo into a department filled with doting women!"

Gibbs allowed a small grin at the image. "What else?"

"Well, with re-training, we could arrange a position as an MTAC officer or a sound tech but it would be a pity to lose his investigative skills," Vance explained. "I was thinking of a position as a foreign analyst. He'd work from here, most of the contact he would have with informants or other agencies would be by phone; computer or satellite – he'd be responsible for analysing intel and performing threat assessments. It's a challenging role for a visually impaired person but I believe he's up to it. What do you think?"

"Not my decision,"

"Didn't offer you the job, Gibbs, I'm asking what you think?"

"I'd rather him back on my team but if that can't happen – foreign analyst is a good fit," Gibbs said.

"There's a stipulation," Vance said.

"Isn't there always?"

"We'll hold the position available for him if he's interested but DiNozzo _must_ enter and complete the courses at the reorientation centre – that's not negotiable. I won't take a chance with his safety - he needs to be able to navigate the office without endangering himself," Vance said. "I have our OS&H people looking into assisted technology - computer screen readers, Braille translation devices, software packages that transfer voice to text and text to voice and so on."

Gibbs raised a quizzical eyebrow and a small smile appeared on the director's usually implacable face.

"Okay, so I did a little research," Vance said. "The point is that none of it is going to happen unless DiNozzo completes the reorientation course. We're more than happy to support him in whatever he needs – but he has to be willing to help himself."

"Fair enough," Gibbs replied with a curt nod, not looking forward to that particular conversation with one very stubborn senior field agent.

"You headed back to the hospital?" the director asked.

"On my way now," Gibbs answered.

"DiNozzo was injured on the job - let me know if he needs anything and I'll arrange it."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Tony shifted irritably in his bed, his muscles were taut and his nerves were fraying by the second as he waited for Doctor Colby to arrive with his test results. He flipped the crystal of his watch and checked the time – only five minutes had passed since he'd last checked and he huffed, yet another, loud impatient sigh.

"Ducky, are you sure my watch is working?" he asked for the second time.

The elderly ME tamped down his own irritation, keeping his tone gentle and patient.

"Anthony, I checked it for you only moments ago. It's quite a good brand and it keeps very good time," Ducky said. "I know you're anxious to have the test results so you can go home – but perhaps it would take your mind off things while we wait, if you assisted me with my crossword?"

Tony grimaced. "Not really my forte, Ducky, you need McGeek for that."

"At least it will keep your mind occupied, my boy. Ah, here's one - usually a sweet course or dish?"

"Dessert," Tony answered.

"Well done, Anthony!" Ducky replied, jotting down the answer and moving on to the next clue. "What about - a four letter word for a small, bloodsucking insect? "

"Flea."

"Oh, I must say…I think you have a knack for this! Here's another clue – a departure from reality?"

"Escape."

"Excellent, my boy, we'll have this finished in no time! How about - collective foliage?"

"Leaves."

"Wonderful, oh here's one…."

"No more, Ducky, _please_…you're killing me here!"

"But you were doing so well, Anthony, and you must admit it was a welcome distraction from worrying about whether you will be permitted to leave the hospital."

"Not with answers like dessert, flea, escape and leaves!" Tony replied. "It's like, death by crossword puzzle!"

"Oh my, I see what you mean…what an uncanny coincidence!" Ducky exclaimed.

"Wonderful," Tony muttered.

With a sigh to match Tony's, Ducky folded the newspaper, capped the pen and placed it into his shirt pocket. He knew Tony well enough to know that the patience train had left the station, was picking up speed and about to derail.

"Okay, young man, out with it!" he said, looking for another way to distract the anxious agent.

"Out with what?" Tony replied.

"Out with whatever it is that has got you - to use your vernacular - _going postal!_"

"I just want to go home, Ducky, I've been here for days! All I do is take pills and sleep and I can do that in my own bed!"

"Let's just wait and see what the good doctor has to say, hmmm?" Ducky said calmly.

"Then where is everyone?" Tony ranted. "Where's Colby and where's Gibbs? They said they'd be here to give me the results, so where are they? Maybe they forgot…or there was some kind of emergency and they're not coming and no one bothered to let us know! _I'm telling ya, Ducky, they're not coming!"_

"Who's not coming?" Gibbs said walking through the door into Tony's room. "That you making that noise, DiNozzo? I can hear you down the hall!"

"It's about time, Boss!" Tony complained. "Ducky had already given up on you."

"That so, Duck?" Gibbs asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

Ducky's protest was lost among his spurts and splutters until he noticed Gibbs' knowing grin.

"We're still waiting for the damn doctor, Boss!"

"Well you're in luck – the damn doctor is here!" Colby said with an amused chuckle.

"Sorry, Doc," Tony muttered with a grimace.

"Why do I get the feeling that if I took your blood pressure right now, I'd be tearing up these discharge papers I have in my hand?" the doctor asked.

Tony's head shot up. "I can go home?"

"Maybe. Let's talk about the test results first," Colby said. "Despite the regime of strong anti-inflammatory meds we've had you on, there is no discernable reduction in the swelling around your occipital cortex."

"It's only been a few days though, right, Doc, the swelling might take a little longer to go down," Tony said, ever-hopeful.

"It might, Tony, but with injuries of this kind, if your sight is going to return sooner rather than later, we can usually see some kind of reduction in the swelling by now."

Tony's gasp was audible as the news struck him like a blow to the gut.

The doctor raised his ophthalmoscope and flicked on the tiny light.

"I want to have a quick look in your eyes, Tony, can you look straight ahead for me? Good, now to the right? And now the left? Okay, you can relax now," Colby said and Tony almost laughed at his choice of words. "How are the headaches?"

"Not as constant," Tony replied softly.

"But still pretty brutal, I'm guessing."

Tony nodded slowly, still processing the doctor's earlier words.

"If I discharge you, do you have someone who can stay with you?"

When Tony didn't answer, Gibbs spoke up. "I'll be staying with him."

"All due respect, Agent Gibbs, I think you're going to need some professional help."

"The agency is sending someone to do some home-based training a few hours a week, starting tomorrow," Gibbs said.

"That's certainly a start, but it's nowhere near enough. Tony is going to need full-time care until he learns to adapt to his blindness and is capable of safely fending for himself."

"Or until his sight comes back," Gibbs stressed; needing Tony to hear that he wasn't alone in thinking that his blindness was temporary.

The look on the faces of the two doctors told Gibbs that they did not agree.

"We'll need him back here twice a week for scans while we continue to monitor his condition and his medication. You will need to ensure…"

"Doc," Gibbs interrupted. "He can hear you, talk to Tony."

The doctor looked flustered. "Of course, I apologise. I had the hospital pharmacy prepare your meds and place them in three different shaped bottles. The pills themselves are also different shapes to avoid taking the wrong meds. We'll see you twice a week for scans and check-ups and I want you back here immediately if the headaches increase in frequency or intensity. Understood?"

Tony sat in shocked silence, though his sightless eyes were speaking volumes.

"Tony?"

"What? Er…yeah…understood," Tony replied, looking pale and rattled.

"Tony, I know this is extremely distressing but…"

As the doctor continued with his comforting words about time and patience, Gibbs could tell by the look on his agent's face, that Tony had stopped listening.

"When can I take him home?" Gibbs asked, wanting to get Tony the hell out of there.

"As soon as he's dressed," Colby said. "Agent Gibbs, would you stop by the nurse's station on your way out and collect Tony's meds?"

Gibbs nodded and offered his hand to the doctor.

"See you in a few days, Tony," the doctor said, giving Gibbs a sad smile when Tony didn't respond.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Palmer walked into the lab and found McGee and Abby in earnest conversation.

"Hey!" he said in greeting. "Any news about when Tony's coming home?"

"Gibbs just called," Abby said, beaming brighter than a second sun. "They're signing Tony's discharge papers now!"

"That's great!" Jimmy enthused. "Did he say when we could see him?"

"Let's give him time to settle in before we converge on him," McGee said. "Hey, doesn't Tony have a birthday coming up?"

"Oh my God, July 8, you're right, Timmy!" Abby said. "This is great, we can have a party and show him how much we love him."

"Remember, Abs, Ducky said not to overwhelm him," McGee said.

"Maybe a party might be a little over the top, given the circumstances," Palmer agreed.

"Et tu, Jimmy?" Abby pouted. "I wasn't thinking of a party party with loud music, loads of alcohol and naked dancing…"

"Wait…you have naked dancing at your parties?" Jimmy asked.

"You don't?" Abby replied with surprise. "Anyway, I was thinking more of a dinner party with Tony's favourite foods, followed by cake and some gifts. We still have a few days to organise it!"

"So…no naked dancing?" Jimmy said with more than a little disappointment.

"It's a nice idea, Abs," McGee said, hoping to get Palmer's mind back on track. "I'll check with the Boss and Ducky, make sure they think Tony's up to it. What about Ziva, we should invite her."

"No!" Abby said, emphatically.

"Come on, Abs, she's still part of the team," McGee replied.

"Is she? Then where has she been while Tony's been in the hospital? She hasn't even been to see him!"

"That's a little harsh, Abs, Ziva was injured, too, and she didn't mean for Tony to get hurt."

"Then why doesn't she tell _him_ that, McGee? I always thought Ziva was the strongest, most courageous woman I'd ever met but until she has the courage to face Tony, I don't want to talk to her."

"I agree - it might be a little awkward to invite her before she's had a chance to speak with Tony. Although, it would have been particularly nice to have her there for the naked dancing." Jimmy said with a reluctant sigh.

Abby and McGee exchanged and exasperated look before delivering twin head slaps to the young ME.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00

With the paperwork completed and the medication collected, Gibbs walked back to Tony's room to collect his charge. He leant against the doorframe watching as Ducky fussed around, packing the few belongings Tony had and chattering non-stop.

His agent was seated on the bed, shoulders slumped, wearing sweats, runners and a t-shirt and looking about as lost and crestfallen as Gibbs had ever seen him. The ashen taint of Tony's skin was stark against the darkness of his heavily stubbled jaw, his normally meticulous coiffure was unkempt and added to his look of complete and utter destitution. Gibbs cleared his throat softly to signal his return and he watched as the younger man snapped his shoulders back and forced his face into a half-grin.

"Got my wheels, Boss?" he asked.

"Nope. The doc thought you might prefer a stroll," Gibbs replied.

"I'm walking?"

"Car's parked out front. You tell me if you need to stop."

"But…how?"

"If you'd allow me, Anthony, I believe I can be of service in this regard," Ducky said.

Explaining the procedure clearly, Ducky instructed Gibbs to go to Tony's position and offer his left arm. Tony then placed his right hand above Gibbs' elbow with his fingers on the inside of the arm and the thumb on the outside. The grip positioned Tony half a pace behind Gibbs, enabling him to detect any changes of Gibbs' body movements like turning left or right.

Tentatively, they left the sanctuary of the room and made they way slowly to the elevator, across the lobby and to the sidewalk. Still following Ducky's instructions Gibbs reached the kerb and said "step down", breathing a sigh of relief when Tony negotiated the step without difficulty. Upon reaching the Charger, Gibbs placed his grip hand on the passenger door handle and indicated which way the car was facing. Tony slid his grip hand down the lead agent's arm and located the handle whilst his other hand located the roof. Tony then opened the door for himself and with Gibbs guiding his head to avoid another concussion; the younger man got into the vehicle, closed the door and fastened his seat belt.

Ducky's exclamation of 'well done, lads' was lost on both men as they sat in the front of the Charger, too relieved to appreciate having mastered the first step in a very long and difficult journey.

As Gibbs started the car and made for the main highway, nobody noticed the man standing across the road, taking more than a passing interest in them.

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Ten**

After leaving the hospital, Gibbs battled the late afternoon traffic before dropping Ducky at his home. The ME wished them a good evening and promised to call them later that evening to check that they were coping all right. When Ducky had exited the vehicle - taking his extensive portfolio of beguiling stories with him - Gibbs headed for Tony's apartment, noting that the younger man hadn't spoken since they left the hospital.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm fine," came the automatic response.

"Spit it out, DiNozzo, what's on your mind?"

Tony inhaled deeply, as if choosing his words carefully, then decided he was just too damn tired for subtleties.

"Why didn't anyone tell me that there is a rehab instructor coming tomorrow? And when did losing my sight mean that I've lost the right to make my own decisions, in my own home, about my own life? Did anyone even _think_ about asking me?"

Tony kept his voice low but it was edged with the frost of anger.

"Just found out about it myself," Gibbs said.

"From who? Who arranged it? Ducky?"

"Vance. It's a compulsory requirement of your worker's compensation claim."

"Then why didn't _he_ tell me?"

"You're my agent, DiNozzo, it's _my_ job to tell you," Gibbs explained calmly. "I was gonna wait until you got home but when Colby looked like screwing the pooch on that idea I had to tell him we had arranged professional help. 'Course, I can take you right back to the hospital if you'd prefer."

Tony bit down on words he didn't mean and would regret later, choosing wisely to say nothing at all. Gibbs left him to his thoughts and continued to concentrate on the traffic. Twenty minutes later, they had arrived at the apartment building and parked the car next to Tony's in the resident's parking area. Using their newly gained skills, they managed to negotiate their way to Tony's apartment without mishap.

"Living room or bedroom?" Gibbs asked, gently nudging the door wider so he could guide Tony in more easily.

"Living room," Tony decided.

Exhaustion and anger collaborated to upgrade his headache from nagging to pulsating and he released a groan of relief as he eased himself back into his luxurious, leather-upholstered couch.

Gibbs took Tony's bag into his room, depositing his toiletry bag in the adjoining bathroom and placing the clothes in the laundry bin. He had called by the apartment earlier in the day to stow his own gear in the spare room and ensure the bed was made up. He re-stocked the refrigerator and cupboards with some basics until they had time to do a bigger grocery run.

Tony's elderly neighbour, Mrs Cantrell, had stopped him in the corridor, concerned that she had not seen Tony for several days. Gibbs explained what had happened and saw the look of shock, then sadness on the elderly lady's features. Mrs Cantrell was obviously very fond of Tony and fiercely protective of the spare key he had entrusted to her in case of emergency. After extracting a promise from Gibbs to call on her if they needed anything, she tottered back into her apartment across the hall.

A small smile ghosted Gibbs' lips when the found a fresh homemade lasagne and prepared salad in the fridge with a note, handwritten in a beautiful but shaky script, reminding Gibbs of his promise. He placed the lasagne straight into the oven and set the timer before turning his attention to the coffee machine. He kept an eye on Tony, watching as he tried to massage the pain from his temples, then blinked heavily a few times until his eyes, still hollowed by fatigue and pain, remained closed.

"Hey, don't go to sleep," Gibbs called. "Chow's almost ready. You've got time for a quick shower if you want one?"

With a put upon sigh, Tony rose cautiously to his feet and felt his way tentatively around the coffee table before making his way toward the main bedroom. Gibbs watched attentively from a distance, shaking his head in wonder at how the younger man's deep-seeded stubbornness could be one of his best attributes as well as one of his most infuriating.

If help had been offered, it would have been flatly refused, so - like many other times in their past - Gibbs hadn't bothered to ask.

"There's fresh towels in your bathroom and clean sweats on your bed," he called after Tony who acknowledged with a grumble and a dismissive wave of his hand.

He paced outside the bathroom door - uncomfortably aware of how close he was coming to the unwanted intrusion into the younger man's fiercely protected privacy - but needing to ensure his agent was safe. He heard the sound of water against the porcelain tiles as Tony started the shower and he flinched twice at the sound of the bottle of shampoo or shower gel slipping through Tony's fingers and falling with a crash to the floor. Fortunately, before he burst through the door, he recognised that the sound was too small to be a 6 foot two federal agent taking a header in the shower recess. Satisfied that Tony was in no immediate peril, he walked back to the kitchen.

Gibbs looked around the stylishly furnished apartment, taking note of things that could be hazardous in Tony's sightless condition. He found a large, expensive-looking vase and some weird looking art-deco figurine that probably cost the younger man half a pay check. He'd wait until Tony went to bed and then gather them up to keep them, and his agent, out of harms way. He could probably space the furniture a little further apart to allow Tony easier access around the apartment.

The timer sounded on the oven and Gibbs turned down the heat and quickly set the table. He placed Mrs Cantrell's pre-made salad and the heated lasagne in the centre of the table, as a freshly showered Tony emerged from the bedroom unscathed.

"Chow's on," Gibbs said, using his voice to let Tony know he was in the dining area.

Tony nodded his head in reply, running his hands along the back of the couch to help guide him in the right direction. Stopping suddenly, he inhaled deeply and smiled.

"Mrs Cantrell's lasagne," he said as he began to salivate. "She knows?"

"Saw her this morning - she's worried about you. You should go see her."

"Soon," he said, cringing internally as he imaged the older lady's clucking and fussing. He inhaled a second time and added. "I see you found the coffee."

"Yep."

"Good, let's eat, I'm starvin'."

"Chair's three feet to your 12 o'clock," Gibbs said, thrusting his hands into his pockets to stop from reaching out to his agent. Gibbs was so intent on watching Tony move to the chair that he didn't notice the rug until after the younger man had caught his foot on it and fallen heavily to his knees.

"Shit!" Gibbs cursed, rushing to Tony's side and grabbing him by the shoulder to steady him. He was more than a little surprised when Tony shrugged him off angrily.

"I'm alright," he growled. "I'm fine! I…I just forgot about the damn rug!"

"We both did," Gibbs replied, his steady voice belying his rapidly pounding heart. "Off your knees, DiNozzo, chow's getting cold."

Gibbs left Tony to regain his feet and locate the dining chair without assistance – all the while, watching him closely - and he served a generous portion of the lasagne onto both plates. Once Tony was seated, Gibbs went back to the kitchen for the coffee and brought the pot to the table.

"Wait, Boss, let me pour the coffee!" Tony said, keen to show off another new skill.

"All yours," Gibbs said, placing the coffee pot on the table. "Pot's near your right hand, six inches to your 2 o'clock - handle's facing you."

Gibbs pretended not to notice the tiny trembling of Tony's long fingers as he reached for and found the handle of the coffee pot. Then, with his left hand, he groped about looking for the coffee mugs while Gibbs furtively moved the ketchup bottle, a glass of water and a bottle of salad dressing out of the direct path of Tony's searching hand.

A slight smile appeared on Tony's face as he located both of the coffee mugs and, one at a time, wrapped his fingers around them, with one just inside the rim, the way Ducky had taught him. He brought them to the lip of the coffee pot and poured until he felt the heat from the steaming liquid close to his finger then he stopped pouring and placed the pot and the mugs back onto the table.

Gibbs was wary of heaping too much praise on the fiercely independent younger man - that was not their way. During this time of complete turmoil, when everything in his life had changed, Tony needed a constant – he needed Gibbs to be Gibbs.

"Good job," may have been all he said but Tony heard the unspoken words of pride… and that was enough.

Feeling ridiculously pleased with himself, Tony located his knife and fork and made a start on his dinner. The pasta proved a little more difficult to manage and when he attempted to cut into it, it slid across his plate and knocked over his coffee mug. The hot liquid flooded over the end of the table and poured onto Tony's thigh, startling him. He quickly pushed back from the table causing it to shake violently and other condiments and glasses to topple over.

"God dammit!" he yelled furiously.

Gibbs grabbed a roll of paper towels and placed them in Tony's hand to wipe himself.

"You get burned?" he asked, worried when Tony didn't respond. "Tony?"

" I'm okay," Tony replied, leaning heavily against the chair and raking one hand through his hair.

"No harm, no foul," Gibbs commented evenly. "We'll get this cleaned up and try again."

"No," Tony replied, his face burning with embarrassment. "I'm gonna hit the rack."

"You didn't eat."

"Yeah…well…I just lost my appetite. I'm tired, Boss, I'm going to bed."

As he listened to his agent's reply, Gibbs noted at the toneless quality in a voice that rarely, if ever, lacked emotion. He watched as Tony made his way cautiously around the living room furniture and into the master bedroom, flinching as the door closed firmly behind him.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

With the kitchen and dining rooms cleaned, the furniture moved further apart and the more fragile decorative items packed safely away, Gibbs poured himself another coffee and walked back into the living area. He sunk back into the comfortable couch and stared at the closed bedroom door, trying to decide whether to give Tony a little more time or to check on him.

Sometimes, dealing with the younger man was like trying to navigate a mine field and despite the fact that Gibbs knew Tony better than anyone else - when he was in this kind of mood - even Gibbs was unsure whether the next step was safe ground or whether it would blow up in their faces.

His cell rang and he picked it up quickly so as not to disturb Tony.

"Gibbs!" he answered tersely.

"And good evening to you, too, Jethro," Ducky replied in a cheery voice. "Have I called at a bad time?"

"What can I do for you, Duck?"

"Judging from your tone, my friend, perhaps I should be asking that question of you," Ducky said. "Bad evening?"

"You could say that."

"How is Anthony?"

"He hit the rack about an hour ago."

" Really? It's barely 8 o'clock! How is he feeling?"

"Tired, frustrated, depressed, furious, pissed…take your pick!" Gibbs said, rubbing tired blue eyes with the heels of his hands. "One minute he seems to be adjusting, the next minute he completely shuts down."

"Oh my! You do know, Jethro, that there will be many such moments ahead?"

"That doesn't help, Duck?"

"No, I don't suppose it does,' Ducky replied sadly. "You may not see the similarity but you and Anthony are like two sides of the same coin - in situations such as this, you both believe that actions speak louder than words. Well, my friend, sometimes words need to be spoken – you need to get that boy to talk to you."

"Easier said than done, Duck, getting DiNozzo to talk about his feelings is like pulling teeth."

"That may be so but it needs to be done – if not with you then with somebody else – perhaps the director can arrange some professional help."

"Rather keep this between us for now. There's already a home-based rehab instructor coming tomorrow. We bring too many strangers in he'll clam up on us for sure."

"As you wish," Ducky conceded. " Perhaps Abigail's idea of a birthday party might be just the thing to boost Anthony's spirits."

"I don't know, Duck," Gibbs said sceptically. "I don't think he's ready."

"Come now, Jethro, a quiet dinner with friends, gifts and cake – we could all use an pleasant evening after the week we've had."

"Okay," Gibbs agreed reluctantly. "But Ducky…tell Abby, no naked dancing!"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Despite the presence of Tony's state-of-the-art home theatre and his eclectic collection of DVD's, Gibbs had never been one to spend his time watching television. He entered the spare room and opened his suitcase, finding the parcel he'd safely packed away in a cocoon of bubble wrap. He'd started the project a few weeks before and was only half finished. However, with some modification, he was sure it would still fit the bill. He reached for his set of small woodcarving tools and took it back into the living room, spreading newspaper on the coffee table to avoid making a mess.

He'd been working on his project for almost two hours before his concern finally got the better of him and he opened the door of Tony's room and looked inside. The large summer moon had sent its lustrous beams to dance through the semi-open curtains and cast the room in a silvery glow. Tony had stripped down to t-shirt and boxers and was supine on the bed - the heat of the evening made blankets unnecessary. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply – a trail of discarded outer clothing led from the adjoining bathroom.

Quietly, Gibbs entered the bathroom, gathering the clothing as he went. He checked the small cup in which he had placed Tony's night meds and was pleased to find it empty. He would have preferred the younger man had eaten before taking them but at least he had taken them. Satisfied his agent was down for the count, he left the room and turned in for the night.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

The sound of smashing glass startled him from his sleep and had him running for Tony's bedroom door, before he was fully awake.

"Tony?" he called, flicking the light on and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness.

His heart skipped a beat when he found the bed empty until he saw Tony leaning heavily against the bathroom vanity - shards of broken glass around his bare feet.

"Don't move, there's glass all over the floor," Gibbs instructed calmly.

"Dropped the freakin' glass," Tony replied, unable to disguise the catch in his voice. He leant forward, pressing one fist into his temple and breathing harshly. "I was trying to find my meds."

Taking a closer look, Gibbs saw the shimmer of sweat on his agents face and neck and the light tremor of exhaustion and pain, running through his body.

"Headache's bad?" Gibbs asked

"Yeah," Tony replied truthfully as Gibbs placed a steadying hand in the broad of Tony's back.

"Hold on, I'll clean this up."

Returning with the dustpan and broom, Gibbs swept a path through the broken glass so he could help Tony back to bed.

"Take my arm," he said as he assumed his guide position and led Tony from the bathroom, easing him gently back against the bed head.

"How bad's the pain?" Gibbs asked, going back into the bathroom for Tony's painkillers. "Want me to call Colby?"

"No! I wanna stay here, Boss. He'd just give me the painkillers and tell me to sleep – I can do that here."

"How many?"

"Two," he replied. Gibbs winced knowing that if Tony was asking for meds, the pain must be nearly intolerable.

He handed Tony the pills and placed a new glass of water in his hand. He watched as the younger man swallowed them then settled further down into the bed. Gibbs returned to clean up the remainder of the broken glass and after ensuring he hadn't missed any, he flicked off the bathroom light and headed back to his own room.

"Boss?" Tony slurred as the effects of the meds started to kick in.

"Thought you were sleeping," Gibbs said, moving closer to the bed.

"I was…but I…I shouldn't have…earlier when I…I'm sorry."

"Eight years, DiNozzo, when you gonna learn never to apologise?"

"Guess I'm a slow learner."

"Wouldn't have lasted eight years if you were. You're doing fine," Gibbs said, feeling Tony flinch slightly as he placed his hand on his shoulder as squeezed. "Get some rest."

"I gotcha, Boss," Tony replied, fighting sleep.

"Call me if that headache gets worse."

"Mmm."

Gibbs started for the door when Tony's voice called him back a second time.

"Boss?"

"Need something?"

"I need control," he answered sibilantly - the strong painkillers were already eroding his almost insurmountable emotional barriers. "Everything is so…so uncertain. I just need to make…my own decisions. S'my life…s'gotta be my decisions, Boss…s'gotta be…"

Gibbs reflected on Tony's words as the younger man's breathing evened out and the pull of the painkillers drew him into sleep. As infuriating as his stubborn behaviour was at times, he wasn't trying to be difficult – he was fighting desperately for his independence and to live his life, his way – no matter what that life held in store. Gibbs had no illusions about the difficult road ahead, but there were no doubts in his mind that - if anyone could do it – DiNozzo could.

He walked to the window and drew the curtains fully before flicking the light and leaving the door half open in case Tony called and then he made his way back to his room.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

On the roof of the building across the road, a man peered through high-powered binoculars - constantly moving them from window to window – determined in his quest to locate his quarry.

He'd followed him from the hospital but the damned secured lobby and code-entry parking had prevented him from establishing the apartment number. So he waited and he watched, zeroing in on every apartment, hoping for a glimpse, that's all he needed.

It was almost midnight and he had almost decided to call it a night when he saw a sudden flicker of movement and focussed his binoculars, just as a silver-haired man pulled the curtains closed.

The man gave a predatory grin. "Gotcha."

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Eleven**

Gibbs woke around 5am and immediately checked on Tony. The younger man was still lying insensate on his bed, lips slightly parted in sleep, snoring lightly - his skin ghastly pale against his dark hair and lashes. The medication had eased the lines of pain that framed Tony's eyes and creased his brow the previous night.

He prepared the coffee pot and left it percolating while he took a quick shower and dressed. Coffee in hand, he made his way to Tony's desk, tucked neatly into a corner of the large living room and he fired up the PC. He spent the next hour, browsing several websites and reading up on medical advances in Neurological Vision Impairment and Cortical Blindness.

He poured himself a refill before continuing his online search, this time choosing Vision Rehabilitation Services and the best practice methods of human guide techniques. He was determined to ensure that his inexperience and lack of knowledge on the subject would not endanger Tony.

A barely audible thump at the door signalled the arrival of the morning newspaper and Gibbs opened the door and bent to pick up today's 'Post.'

"Good morning, Agent Gibbs!" a cheery voice sounded from across the hall.

"Mrs Cantrell," he said, looking up in surprise. "You're an early riser."

Tony's neighbour was a vibrant and loveable eccentric with a cheery disposition and a quick smile framed by deep dimples. She reminded Gibbs of Betty White with a blue rinse.

"I have an African tribal-dance class at 8am." The elderly lady replied. "And please, you must call me Gladys."

"Only if you call me Jethro, Ma'am."

"Jethro! How delightful!" Mrs Cantrell remarked. "I once courted a young man named Jethro, before I met my Arthur, of course. Lovely young man, not the brightest light in the chandelier but he sure was a looker!"

"Yes, Ma'am," Gibbs grinned. "Thank you for dinner last night. I hope you didn't go to any trouble."

"Oh, it's no trouble. I like to cook for Anthony – he calls me his "blue-rinse angel", she replied with a girlish giggle. "He's quite the charmer, that one."

"So I'm told."

Mrs Cantrell chewed her bottom lip anxiously and reached out to take Gibbs' hand. "Jethro, how is Anthony?"

"He's gonna be fine, Ma'am – just gonna take a little time."

"Of course. Well, give him my love, tell him I'll be by to visit soon and please let me know if there's anything at all I can do, anything! That young man has been very good to me, especially since my Arthur passed on."

"Thank you, Ma'am, I'll keep that in mind."

"Well then, I must get going to my class –we're learning a SuSu seduction dance called the Macru. I have to be early to get my pick of the hot young men! Bye for now."

"Ma'am." Gibbs did a double take and grinned in amusement as 86-year-old Gladys Cantrell, power-walked her Lycra-clad body down the corridor.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Although it was getting late by his standards, Gibbs let Tony sleep, hoping the extended rest would chase away the remnants of last night's headache. He continued to half-heartedly read the paper, listening for movement from the other room.

It was almost 0930 before Tony walked slowly into the living room - one arm outstretched in front of him as he tried to reorient himself with the furniture. He greeted Gibbs with a short grunt, located his recliner by touch then allowed himself to fall heavily into it.

Though the painkillers had forced sleep upon him, the dark smudges under his eyes laid testament to the fact that very little of it had been beneficial.

"Want some breakfast?" Gibbs asked.

"Just coffee." came the short reply.

"Coffee's not breakfast. You need something to eat before you have your meds."

"Oh, right, 'cos that worked so well last night!" Tony snapped, his face flushing at the memory of last night's dinner mishap.

"Man's gotta eat."

"I haven't shopped for a while, Boss, been a little busy with the whole unable to see thing," Tony replied sharply, then huffed resignedly. "Maybe some Cheerios."

"Cereal, toast and juice," Gibbs countered. "Go wash up."

"You eaten yet?"

"Been waiting on you, DiNozzo. Move your ass, I'm hungry."

With breakfast under control and Tony in the shower, Gibbs slipped into Tony's room and opened his wardrobe. He shook his head at the huge array of clothing, ranging from faded jeans to designer dinner suits and very few items were "off the rack."

He grabbed the jeans and a casual navy shirt and laid them out on the bed with a clean pair of boxers, socks and pair of Nikes and with a nonchalant "Clothes are on your bed" he headed back to the kitchen before the younger man could complain.

In his current mood, Gibbs wouldn't have been at all surprised if Tony had silently protested having his clothes laid out for him by marching out for breakfast in a bathrobe. But, twenty minutes later, Tony re-entered the living room, dressed, looking a little fresher and, hopefully, a little more receptive than before.

"Breakfast's ready," Gibbs said, his voice leading Tony to the dining area.

Tony seated himself at the table and gently felt around his place setting, locating a bowl that Gibbs had already filled with Cheerios, milk and a spoon.

"What time is the rehab instructor due?" Tony tried to ask casually but Gibbs knew the impending visit was largely behind his agent's testy attitude this morning.

"Thirteen hundred," Gibbs replied. "You've got a few hours."

Tony flipped open the crystal on his watch and with gentle fingers, confirmed that it was just after zero ten hundred.

"I agreed to visit the reorientation centre with Ducky next week, why do I have to see this guy, too?" Tony's voice was low and definitely edgy.

"This is agency sanctioned," Gibbs said, keeping his voice level. "You need to be evaluated…"

"_Evaluated? Evaluated for what, my blindness?"_ Tony laughed humourlessly and the anger burning within him suddenly ignited. _"What are they gonna do, Boss? Watch me walk into a few walls? Take me for a drive and tell me to find my own way home? I'm blind and I don't need a freakin' evaluation to tell me that!"_

Patience was something Gibbs had never had in abundance and he knew he was fast approaching his limit. As Tony started to push himself away from the table, Gibbs grabbed a tight hold on his forearm.

"Stand down, DiNozzo!" he barked in his best DI's voice.

He watched the muscles along Tony's jaw line contract and for a moment, thought the younger man was going to defy him. After a long moment, Tony shrugged off Gibbs' hold and sat heavily back into his seat, tension radiating from every pore.

"Tony…listen to me," Gibbs said firmly. "The evaluation is for medical insurance and worker's compensation approval. Unless you want to foot the bill for your own medical expenses, this has to be done."

Tony gave a curt nod and Gibbs continued.

"The guy's a Vision Rehabilitation Therapist. He can help you with every day living skills. You wanna keep your independence til your sight returns, here's your chance. You wanna make your own decisions, have control? You can let him help you for a few hours a week or you can start packing for the reorientation centre. You decide."

"You call that a choice?" Tony asked brusquely after an awkward silence.

"Never known you to run from a challenge, Tony," Gibbs said plainly. "Now's not the time to start."

The two men ate the remainder of their breakfast, barely speaking a word. Usually, the taciturn lead agent was comfortable, grateful even, with a peaceful silence and the opportunity to gather his own thoughts. But silence from DiNozzo usually meant sickness, loss of consciousness or trouble and, despite Tony's lingering headaches, he was certain he could rule out the first two.

Ten hours that only registered as thirty minutes on the clock, passed without a word. Tony finished his toast and juice, got to his feet and walked back into his room, closing the door firmly behind him.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs had returned to the PC and had been lost in his research when the intercom sounded. He checked his watch, surprised that he had lost track of time. He looked at the small CCTV screen located near the intercom and saw a man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, waiting to be let in. Gibbs established that he was Steven Myles, the Vision Rehabilitation Therapist who was here to speak with Tony and he pressed the button to allow him entry.

When the younger man arrived at the apartment, they introduced themselves and Myles took a seat in the living room while Gibbs made coffee. Gibbs did not miss the cautious and methodical manner in which the younger man moved and realised that he was, at least partially, visually impaired.

"I'll get Tony," Gibbs said.

"Before you do, Agent Gibbs, I'm guessing by the closed door that Tony isn't too happy about this meeting – has the agency arranged any professional help?"

"Just you."

Myles chuckled. "I'm more than happy to answer any concerns Tony has and to teach him new living skills but I'm not qualified to assess his mental attitude. _Individuals with new vision loss are at high risk for depression._ Learning what he needs to know to stay active is Tony's best defence against depression and believe me, no matter how stoic or resilient Tony may be - depression is the real enemy. You can learn to live fully with vision loss but you cannot live fully with depression."

Gibbs nodded. "Accident happened less than a week ago. He's still coming to terms with it."

"If by 'it' you mean the blindness," Myles stated. "The background information I received from your agency, said Tony was a uniformed cop, then a detective before joining NCIS as a field agent."

"That's right."

"Has anyone spoken to Tony about how his loss of vision will effect his employment with NCIS?"

"Not yet. We wanted to give him some time."

"Time for what? For his vision to return?"

"We were told this could be temporary."

"And, for Tony's sake, I hope it is." Myles replied. "But I'm sure you were also told that this could be a permanent condition and, therefore, one of Tony's greatest concerns at the moment must be whether he would still be able to earn a living and support himself. I'm sure things will be a lot easier for him if he knew that he had the support of the agency, no matter what happens."

"I'll talk to him."

"If I could make a suggestion, those assurances might be better coming from Director Vance – might make it seem more official – not just comforting words from a friend."

"I'll see to it."

"Good." Myles said. "Tony's frame of mind is crucial to this type of training. One thing I have learned during my career as a Vision Rehabilitation Therapist is that I cannot teach an adult client a skill that he or she is not ready to learn, no matter how important and useful I feel the skill might be. If this training is going to be beneficial, Agent Gibbs – for the long term or the short term - Tony needs to be willing to work hard at it."

"He will," Gibbs said confidently.

"Today is just an informal chat and initial therapy assessment to discuss some of the concerns and goals Tony may have regarding the training sessions. Have you had any human guide training?"

"We have a friend, who's a doctor. He gave us minimal instruction."

"But not enough for you to feel totally comfortable about Tony's safety, right?" Myles guessed. "Why don't I go talk with Tony then, when we've finished, I can run you both through some techniques designed to keep you safe when moving around indoors or outdoors. The best training though, is practice. Take a few short walks – to the park or the corner store – you'll be surprised how quickly you both adapt. Now might be a good time to meet Tony."

"He had a rough night and a bad morning, he may not be too receptive," Gibbs warned the younger man.

"I'm sure we'll be fine."

Gibbs nodded and walked to the closed bedroom door. He knocked briefly before entering.

"Tony?"

Tony was lying on the bed, open eyes staring upwards but seeing only darkness.

"He's here?" Tony asked without expression.

"He's here," Gibbs confirmed.

"I'll be right out," he huffed.

Moments later Tony walked carefully from the bedroom to the living room, using his hands to locate the furniture to orient himself.

The visitor was immediately on his feet and walked directly to Tony, speaking so that Tony could hear him coming.

"Tony," the younger man said. "I'm Steven Myles, your Vision Rehabilitation Therapist. Please, call me Steve."

Tony reluctantly extended his hand and Steve grasped it in a firm handshake.

"I'd tell you to call me Tony but…wait a minute…you just did," Tony said sarcastically.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs hissed.

"No, he's right!" Steve said. "That was my fault – I made an presumption and I apologise. Would you prefer me to call you, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Tony's fine," he muttered grudgingly.

They all took their seats and Steve continued.

"I know this is a terribly difficult time for you and you have every right to be a little …confused."

"Do I have the right _not_ to be confused, as well?" Came Tony's pissy reply.

Gibbs and Steve exchanged a glance and Gibbs rubbed his fingers over tired and concerned eyes. Steve pressed on.

**"**As a Vision Rehabilitation Therapist, I teach adaptive independent living skills that enable adults who are blind or have low vision to perform a range of daily living activities. These include home management, mobility and orientation, personal self-care and everyday things like using the telephone, shopping, or reading and writing Braille."

"Been doing this long, Steve, 'cause you sound pretty young to me?" Tony asked in a clipped tone.

"Well, if you're concerned about my qualifications, Tony, I have lived with low vision since I was eight years old – that gives me about seventeen years first hand experience," the young man said, matter-of-factly. "I attended the Academy for Certification of Vision Rehabilitation and Education Professionals, graduating with honours in Orientation and Mobility and I have a Masters Degree in Blind Rehabilitation from Western Michigan University – I have the written proof in my briefcase but seeing as though you can't read it anyway, you might just have to take my word on that."

Gibbs watched his agent intently, not knowing how Tony was likely to react. The stubborn set of his jaw flexed slightly and the flint hard look in his eyes softened marginally.

"Seems we got ourselves a wise-ass, Boss," Tony said with a hint of a grin.

"Takes one to know one, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied without malice.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

They made a small list of things that were currently of greatest concern to Tony as he fought to maintain his dignity and his independence. Mobility, personal hygiene and grooming were at the top of the list.

Although Tony had no words to express his appreciation for his boss' care and support, he needed to be able to take a shower without knowing the older man was pacing worriedly outside. He wanted to find the shampoo bottle or the soap when it fell to the floor; clean his teeth without spending ten minutes locating the cap of the toothpaste. This morning's mix-up with the deodorant can and the hairspray left him with smelly but maximum control underarm hair with a high sheen. He wanted to choose his own clothes, find matching socks and shoes, know whether his ties matched his shirts and he wanted to sit at the table and eat a meal without most of it ending up in his lap.

Steve assisted Tony into his room and the adjoining bathroom to address some of those issues with easy techniques. They re-arranged the bathroom cabinet, getting rid of the clutter so that Tony could find things more easily. Steve made a list of items that would make showering easier and the bathroom safer – from toothpaste with a hinged cap, to shampoo, conditioner and shower gel dispensers that stick to the wall, rubber-backed, slip-proof mats and a small safety rail for Tony to hold on to should he feel disoriented or dizzy.

They discussed organising his wardrobe so that his clothes would be grouped together and arranged combining his next lesson with lunch so that they could practice eating and dining skills.

Steve spent the next hour with both men, learning and practicing new human guide techniques, emphasising the fact that practicing was the only way to increase their confidence and mobility. They scheduled another visit in two days time, incorporating a meal and to begin Tony's program of learning new skills.

Despite the somewhat rocky start, Steve left the apartment pleased that the few hours spent together had been beneficial. He was concerned that Tony appeared to be treating his condition as short term and became agitated and depressed at the thought that his condition could be permanent. He made a mental note to discuss this with Agent Gibbs during their next appointment.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00

Gibbs had gone back to reading the newspaper, leaving Tony to his thoughts, when the younger man spoke up.

"Boss," he said, rubbing his knuckles through stubble that was quickly becoming a light beard. "I need a shave."

"You want me to do it?"

"No offence, but the thought of you holding a KA-Bar to my throat is likely to keep me awake nights."

"I just sharpened it?" Gibbs said, happy to keep up the banter. "It will take those whiskers right off?"

"It's not the whiskers I'm worried about - KA-Bar's likely to take off my whole damn face," Tony said grimacing at the thought. "I'd go see my hair stylist but I need to book six weeks in advance."

"For a hair cut!" Gibbs said incredulously. "Don't need an appointment with my guy – just walk in off the street."

"Yeah, um, I kinda guessed that, Boss."

"Something wrong with my hair, DiNozzo?"

"No, Boss, on you it's very…er…chic…I'm just saying that not everyone can pull off that look," Tony said thinking fast. "There's a unisex hair salon about four blocks from here…maybe they can fit me in?"

"Feel up for a walk?" Gibbs asked.

"Really? Four blocks means crossing four roads – we haven't done that yet."

"They all have crosswalks or traffic lights, right?"

"Well…yeah…"

"Grab your shoes, Tony, we'll take a walk."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

They travelled to the lobby of Tony's apartment building and on to the sidewalk, cautiously making their way down the block toward the first crosswalk. Tony had a talon-like grip on Gibbs' guiding arm and his short sharp breaths were a telltale sign of the younger man's anxiety.

Gibbs spoke in a calm, reassuring voice, warning Tony of the step, and then stepping off the kerb and onto the road. Tony took a few deep breaths and tried to listen to and separate the different noises around him. He found it disorienting and overwhelming and only Gibbs' confident tone kept him from turning back to his apartment.

Forty-five minutes later, Gibbs guided a clean-shaven Tony back along the sidewalk toward his apartment building. Gibbs was pleased that Tony's anxiety appeared to be lessening and, as they walked, he asked Tony to describe what he was hearing or smelling so he could orient himself. The smell of freshly baked bread told Tony that they were passing Del Vecchio's Bakery and the hiss of steam presses, several minutes later told of Bright's Dry Cleaners.

They reached the last crosswalk before the apartment building and Gibbs waited for a break in the traffic before guiding Tony off the sidewalk.

"Almost home. That's a good job!" Gibbs said. "We're almost across the road. We'll be stepping up onto the kerb in 4 feet."

Gibbs was so intent on keeping Tony relaxed and ensuring that his agent didn't trip and fall that he didn't hear the sound of the approaching vehicle - shifting gears and accelerating toward them. Tony had been listening to the sounds of the vehicles around them, trying to discern distance from the volume and revs of the various engines. The sound of gears shifting up rather than down and a motor getting louder rather than quieter, immediately had Tony's heart pounding hard against his sternum.

Tony thrust both his hands forcefully into Gibbs' back and dived headlong for the kerb. He felt the rush of air as the speeding car raced passed, missing them by inches. He landed with a force that knocked the breath out of him and lay on his back trying to squeeze the air back into his lungs. Pandemonium erupted all around him as other pedestrians hurried to assist them. He was confused and overwhelmed by the number of voices all shouting excitedly at one time and vying for prominence over the thunderous sound of his own rapidly beating heart. He felt hands upon him, holding him still as he writhed to escape their grasp. Then, despite his best efforts, the cacophony of sounds and voices rushed over him like a tidal wave and he began to panic.

It took just one voice, speaking only one word, to cut through his terror.

"Tony."

"Boss!" Tony shouted, struggling to sit up as the lead agent knelt beside him, assessing him for injuries.

He couldn't help it, he was trembling from shock and adrenalin and clutched at Gibbs as if he was the only anchor in a ocean of turmoil. The former Marine held him tightly against his chest.

"We're okay, we're okay."

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Twelve**

Gibbs opened the door of Tony's apartment to a breathless McGee.

"What do you got?" he asked.

"We've got agents posted in the lobby and in the resident's parking," McGee said. "No one gets in or out without identification and without being signed in by a resident."

"What about the crime scene?"

"I spoke to several of the witnesses, Boss, the good news is that the majority of the witness accounts appear to agree for a change," McGee replied. "The truck was double-parked approximately halfway down the block, no one got in or out and the engine was running the whole time. Certainly looks like the driver was laying in wait for you and Tony."

McGee sneaked a quick peek around his Boss and saw Tony, wrapped in a blanket and being fussed over by Ducky.

"BOLO?" Gibbs asked.

"Truck had no licence plates. We know that it was a late model, dark blue, Ford F-150, but no confirmation on the model. The F-150 series releases nine models each year," the young agent replied. "I checked with DMV and in the tri-state area alone there were 12,000 dark blue F-150's registered last year. No reports of any stolen in the last two days."

"Stay on it."

"How's he doing, Boss? Is it true that Tony pushed you out of the way of the truck?"

"You know, I can hear you, right Probie?" Tony asked.

"Sorry, Tony," McGee said walking to stand beside Tony's chair and placing a hand on the older man's shoulder to let him know he was there. "I just…how did you do it? How did you know to get out of the way of the truck?"

"Well, Probilicious, it's like this - you work with Gibbs long enough and his 'spidey sense' starts to rub-off on you."

"He heard the truck accelerating," Gibbs added flatly.

"And…I heard the truck accelerating," Tony admitted.

"Well it's lucky for both of you that he did, or I'd be treating you in a more formal capacity in my Morgue!" Ducky said firmly as he dabbed a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic on Tony's grazed arms.

"Ow, Ducky! Keep that up and you still might - that stuff kills!"

"Now, Anthony, please sit still, I'm almost finished," Ducky said, in a slightly patronising voice.

"Ow! Did they teach you at Eton that torture is _not_ part of the Hippocratic Oath," Tony moaned.

"Tell me, Anthony, why is it that you make less noise over a broken arm or a bullet wound than you do over grazed elbows?" Ducky asked.

Tony's cheeky grin was his only reply.

"I need coffee," Gibbs moaned, walking toward the kitchen. "McGee?"

"Coffee would be nice, Boss, thanks," McGee said, before realising the look of impatience on the lead agent's face. "Oh…you want me to…coming, Boss."

Following Gibbs to the kitchen, McGee watched as he poured himself a cup of coffee and reached for the tea caddy, placing the appropriate measure into the pot for Tony and Ducky.

"I need you to go back to the office and check the type of car registered to Harry Turner."

"Seaman Turner's father? I heard he'd threatened you when the jury found his son guilty," McGee replied. "You think he tried to kill you?"

"My gut tells me he hasn't got it in him but whoever it was, damn-near killed Tony as well. I'm not prepared to take any chances. Check him out and let me know."

"Yes, Boss. You want me to check on the list of people with grudges against Tony?"

"You still got that list?"

"Are you kidding? The number of times we've had to use it, I practically know it by heart."

"You'll find a similar list for me in a folder in the back of my filing cabinet. Check 'em out. I'll have Vance assign someone to help you."

"On it, Boss. You...er...want me to talk to Abby?"

"Aw damn!" Gibbs cursed softly, realising he'd forgotten to let Abby know. "Tell her we're fine and I'll call her in the morning."

"Sure," McGee said. He headed for the door and then hesitated and turned back to the lead agent. "Not that I mind, but why haven't I got a list of people with grudges against me or who'd like to see me dead?"

"Well, hell, you're just not trying hard enough, McGee!" Gibbs quipped. "Go!"

McGee said his goodnights and headed back to the Navy yard.

Gibbs brought three steaming mugs into the living room. Ducky had stopped his ministrations over Tony and took a long sip of the hot tea.

"Ah…nothing like a strong cup of tea for whatever ails you, I always say," the ME enthused. "Did you know that, although it is known as a quintessential English drink, tea is a relative latecomer to British shores. Although the custom of drinking tea dates back to the third millennium BC in China, it was not until the mid 17th century that the beverage first appeared in England..."

Tony let the one-sided conversation flow around him as Ducky's cultured voice lulled him closer to sleep. The adrenalin that rushed his system on the street had dissipated, leaving him feeling exhausted. His eyelids were already starting to drop when Gibbs reached forward and took the dangerously tilting mug from his fingers.

"DiNozzo," he said softly, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Bed."

"Sending me to bed without dinner, Boss?" Tony asked sleepily. "It's only…"

Tony reached for his watch and felt the shattered crystal beneath his fingers - he realised it must have been damaged when he leapt to the kerb. The bitter disappointment that flittered across his too pale features tore at Ducky's kind heart.

"Ducky…I broke it…"

Ducky moved closer, gently removing the watch from Tony's wrist.

"It's still keeping good time," the ME said. "I believe only the crystal will need to be replaced. Not to fret, lad, I'll have that arranged for you tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, Ducky, I didn't know."

"Nonsense, my boy," Ducky said, placing his warm hand over Tony's. "A watch crystal is replaceable – you, my young friend, are not."

Tony's face flushed at the ME's kind words and he was rendered momentarily speechless. Recognising Tony's dilemma, Gibbs stepped in.

"Come on," he groaned, taking most of Tony's weight as they staggered toward the bedroom.

"I can do it, Boss!" Tony growled in a tired and irritable manner.

He broke free from Gibbs' grasp, turned quickly and walked straight into the wall, his face flushing with embarrassment once more.

"You wanna get in that way, DiNozzo, ya gonna have to hit that wall a lot harder, ya didn't even make a dent," he said steering Tony's shoulders in the right direction. "Meantime, try using the door."

"Funny, Boss," Tony said with a wan smile.

"Go, I'll call you for supper," Gibbs said.

"I haven't been put to bed this early since I was 7 years old and my mother drank my sea monkeys," Tony muttered. "Night, Ducky."

"Sleep well, my boy, I'll call in on you tomorrow evening, hmm?"

Tony felt his way into his room and placed his hand to the end of his bed. He rolled his eyes as he found his sweatpants, t-shirt and a clean pair of boxers already laid out and waiting for him. He made his way into the bathroom and said a silent thankyou to Steve when he realised how much easier it was to put the toothpaste on his toothbrush if he held the brush by its bristles. After cleaning his teeth and "taking care of business," he took his afternoon meds, noticing that Gibbs had exchanged the glass for a plastic cup.

He changed his clothes and practically fell into bed, relieved that this day was over. He relaxed listening to the muffled sounds of Gibbs and Ducky speaking in the living room and finally allowed his exhaustion to lead him into sleep.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Feeling the situation called for something a little stronger than tea and coffee, Gibbs poured two glasses of pure malt scotch from the decanter in Tony's liquor cabinet and handed one to Ducky.

He nodded his head toward Tony's closed bedroom door. "He really okay, Duck?"

"Oh, he'll be fine, Jethro," Ducky assured him. "The grazes on his arms are only superficial, despite his melodramatic whining and moaning, and he suffered some bruising to his hip and back…"

"But?"

"His blood pressure is quite high – by Anthony's standards – and although he tried valiantly to hide it, it took a considerable amount of time for his hands to stop trembling."

"Shock."

"I should think so, - you know how frightening that experience was as a sighted person, can you image the terror Anthony experienced?"

"Seems okay now."

"Well of course he does! That young man would walk with two broken legs if he thought that's what you expected! A good night's sleep should see him right for the morning…now, my friend, how about you?"

"I'm fine, Duck."

Ducky shook his head and chuckled as Gibbs unknowing repeated the exact words Tony had used.

"Do you think the maniac driving that vehicle was after you or our Anthony?"

"Truck came at us from my side, Duck, not Tony's but you're right, it could have killed us both."

"This was not your fault, Jethro," Ducky said firmly.

"I know," he said quietly, wrestling his self-recrimination into submission.

"Now then, what do you want to do about this birthday dinner tomorrow?"

"Someone out there is trying to kill us and you want to have a party?"

"Well…it sounds rather insensitive when you say it like that!" Ducky said indignantly.

"Ya think?"

"Not a party as such, more a dinner with…"

"With gifts and cake, Abby told me," Gibbs said. "He's still working on his eating skills, Duck, gaining his confidence - I don't want him embarrassed."

"Anthony will be among friends, Jethro, there will be no need for embarrassment."

"Easy for us to say, we're not the one tipping dinner into our lap."

"Pizza!" Ducky exclaimed. "We can all pick it up with our fingers and Anthony should manage quite well."

"He has more scans tomorrow - may not be up for company."

"We're more than company, Jethro, right now we're all the family that boy has. I take it Anthony did not contact his father?"

"Asked him if he wanted me to call – he said no."

"Oh dear, I assume he doesn't want his father to see him at a disadvantage. All the more reason why a small dinner party would be just the ticket! It will let him know how fond we are of him!"

"There's still someone out there trying to kill us."

"You have to admit though, Jethro, with agents at every entrance we couldn't possibly choose a safer venue. Plus you and young Timothy will be right here with us."

"Don't discount, DiNozzo, Duck - he did good out there today – saved both our asses," he said with more than a modicum of pride, as his lips quirked into a smile.

"Discount DiNozzo?" Ducky questioned, his return smile just as proud as his friend's. "Heaven forbid, Jethro, Heaven forbid!"

The two friends clinked their glasses in silent toast of the courage and skill shown by the younger man, who proved that even in the face of adversity, he was still a force to be reckoned with.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00

Once Ducky had left the apartment, Gibbs wandered to the bedroom to check on Tony. Peering into the darkness of the room he heard the soft snores of his agent. After the day they'd had, he would prefer to let the younger man sleep but Tony's night meds were due and he needed something in his stomach. Gibbs wandered back to the kitchen to start a light supper of toasted sandwiches, knowing they wouldn't cause Tony too much difficulty.

His cell rang and he squinted at the caller ID.

"Watcha got McGee?"

"Boss, I checked DMV records for Seaman Turner's father, Harry. The vehicle registered in his name is a 2000 model, white Ford Focus sedan. But I decided to check on Seaman Turner's vehicle. It's a…"

"Late model, dark blue, Ford F-150," Gibbs finished.

"And it's registered at his parents address."

"Go, McGee, make sure you have back-up and bring him in for questioning," Gibbs said. "Let me know when you're back at the Navy yard."

"On it, Boss."

"And, McGee…good job." He snapped the cell closed, cutting the connection.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

He placed the toasted sandwiches on the dining table and quietly walked into the darkness of Tony's room. He gently and carefully shook the younger man awake – gently, so as not to startle him, and carefully because experience had taught him that, when caught off guard, Tony often woke up swinging or brandishing a fully loaded Sig Sauer.

"Is it morning?" Tony asked, around a yawn.

Gibbs felt his chest tighten painfully as the innocuous words rammed the reality of Tony's blindness brutally down his throat. It wasn't that he was in denial about his agent's loss of vision but every time the younger man opened his eyes Gibbs prayed to whatever God was out there, that Tony's vision had returned.

He quashed his disappointment and cleared his throat before replying.

"Dinner's on the table," he said softly. "Go wash up."

Still pale and with eyes rimmed by dark circles, Tony gingerly made his way to the table several moments later. Clean-shaven and with his hair tousled he looked much younger than his years.

"Smells good," Tony said, his stomach agreeing loudly.

"Take your best shot," Gibbs said, encouraging Tony to use his other senses. The younger man accepted the challenge and inhaled deeply.

"Toast…grilled cheese…and coffee, right?"

"Not bad, DiNozzo - toasted ham and cheese and coffee."

"Ooh, so close!" Tony replied taking his seat at the table.

"Wanna pour the coffee?"

"Sure."

"Pot's ten inches to your 2 o'clock."

Tony held out his left hand and Gibbs placed a mug into his palm. Adjusting his grip as Ducky had shown him, he poured both cups and replaced the pot on the table.

They ate in companionable silence, Gibbs noticing that although Tony's appetite was improving, it wasn't a patch on the voraciousness he usually exhibited. _'Small steps' _he told himself. He frowned as he watched Tony rubbing his temples in a small circular motion with his long fingers.

"Another headache?"

"I'm fine, Boss."

"Not what I asked."

"There was something about that truck today that's been bugging the hell outta me."

"You mean beside the fact it nearly killed us?"

"Yeah," Tony smiled wanly. "Beside that."

"What's on your mind?"

"That's just it, I don't know!" Tony said, the frustration evident in his voice and on his face. "There was something…I just can't put my finger on it."

"You know someone who drives a truck like that?" Gibbs asked.

"No…but I was wondering why anyone would try to kill me using their own truck –it's a little obvious, don't ya think?"

"Was thinking the same thing but we still gotta check it out. You think they were trying to kill you, Tony?"

"Aren't they always, Boss?" Came the glib reply.

"Came at us from my side, could have been me they were after," Gibbs stated. "I've pissed off more than my share of people over the years."

"You got that right, Boss!" Tony replied emphatically and then backtracked quickly. "I mean…we both have, right…that comes with the job."

"Now, answer my question," Gibbs said, noticing the temple rubbing hadn't stopped.

"Question?" Tony said innocently.

Gibbs smiled and shook his head – subject change had always been an effective avoidance technique of Tony's but Gibbs knew him far too well to fall for it.

"Do you have another headache?"

Tony rolled his eyes and gave a quick grin as he realised his Boss was on to his ruse and there was no way out.

"Yes," he replied reluctantly.

"You worried about the scans tomorrow?"

Tony's wordless shrug and the way he averted his face spoke volumes.

"I know it seems like a lifetime to you but it's only been a week. It'll happen when it happens," Gibbs said, squeezing the younger man's shoulder. He opened Tony's hand and placed the pills in his palm. "Take 'em and hit the rack, you gotta big day tomorrow."

"I do?"

"Your hospital appointment and a birthday dinner." He silenced Tony's objection with another squeeze to his shoulder. "I know, but Abby's excited, she'll be disappointed if you say no – besides, they're bringing your favourite pepperoni and sausage pizza."

"Extra cheese?"

"Extra cheese - go hit the rack."

Gibbs watched Tony cautiously ease his way around the living room furniture back to his room. He still had his reservations about the dinner but he recalled how a few stolen hours in the park with Palmer and McGee had lifted Tony's spirits - he was hopeful the dinner would have the same result.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

With Tony sleeping again, Gibbs returned to his project, meticulously carving and polishing and hoping to have it completed for what Abby was calling Tony's birthday not-party.

He frowned at the disturbance caused by his ringing cell and checked the caller ID.

"You got something, McGee?" he asked, dispensing with pleasantries.

"Yes, Boss," McGee replied. "When Harris and I arrived at the Turner home, Turner's white Ford Focus was still in the drive but no one answered the door. Their dog was inside the house, barking as if distressed so we forced the door open."

"What was it?"

"I'm not really sure, it was a mangy little yappy thing," McGee replied.

"Not the dog, McGee, what was it barking at?"

"Oh...of course...sorry, Boss. We found Mrs Turner unconscious on the floor. EMT's took her to Sibley Memorial – I sent Harris with the ambulance. Looks pretty bad."

"Anyone hear anything?"

"Neighbours say they heard shouting and crying coming from the house this morning and saw Turner leave in his son's Ford F-150."

"Nobody, bothered to call the cops or check on the wife?" Gibbs asked.

"No, seems it's a regular occurrence – Turner Senior's an alcoholic and wife beater. Neighbours said it was a matter of time before he put her in hospital again."

"Any hits on the BOLO for the truck?"

"Not yet but I've just arrived back at the office now, I'll do a credit search, maybe we'll get lucky and he'll use his bank accounts."

"Turner may be a wife beater and our best lead but it doesn't make him guilty of trying to kill DiNozzo or me. I'll call Vance and get you a team - I want someone checking the names on Tony's list and mine, just in case."

"You want me...you want me to _lead_ a team, Boss?" McGee asked in surprise.

"You up to it, McGee?"

"Absolutely...that is...I'll do my best, Boss," McGee said earnestly.

"I know," Gibbs replied. "And McGee, keep running the licence registrations for the dark blue Ford F-150's. I want to know if any have connections to me or DiNozzo, no matter how thin."

"All 12,000, Boss?"

"_McGee!" _

"Checking all 12,000, gotcha, Boss."

The door of the bedroom swung open and Tony walked drunkenly from the room, white as a sheet and sightless eyes wide with excitement.

"Boss!"

"DiNozzo! What the hell?" Cell phone still in his hand, Gibbs was quickly to his feet, taking Tony's arm to support the younger man as he staggered.

"I thought you were sleeping?"

"I am… or… I was…Boss, I remembered!" he said, more asleep than awake. "That thing about the truck – I need to talk to McGee."

Gibbs thrust the cell into Tony's hand, watching the younger man's face reflect his confusion as he brought the cell to his ear.

"Who's this?" Tony asked warily.

"Tony, it's me, is everything okay?" Came the concerned reply.

Tony's mouth dropped open as he recognised McGee's voice. He held the cell away from his mouth and turned to Gibbs at his side. "You're good, Boss!" he said in mock awe and then turned his attention back to the cell. "I'm fine, Probie, I just remembered something about the truck, something that's been bugging me?"

"You mean beside the fact it nearly killed you?" McGee asked wryly.

Tony held the cell away from his mouth again. "Why do I keep walking in to that?" he asked no one in particular.

Resuming his phone conversation he huffed. "Yes, McGoo, beside that."

"Okay, I'm listening, what have you got?"

"The truck had one of those after-market, high performance exhaust systems added that produce a low throaty sound – you know, the kind you'd get from a long straight pipe muffler with a baffled channel, lined in fibreglass…what am I saying, you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Well, not _no_ idea," McGee replied indignantly and then added. "Just…not much of one."

"Well here's the thing…these custom built exhaust systems generally have a three foot hot-dog resonator with dual rear exhaust pipes, which would mean the noise would resonate from the back, right?"

"Right!" McGee said, wishing he'd paid more attention in Autoshop.

"But when the truck went passed us, the engine noise was coming from the side! That means this truck had to have a dual side cat-back system. Are you writing this down Probie, 'cause it could be important."

"Yes, I'm writing it down…cat not dog…why is this important again?"

Tony huffed in exasperation. "Because, Probie, the majority of these custom fitted trucks have rear exhaust systems. The list of this type of truck with side fitted exhaust systems should narrow the search by about 80 to 90 percent."

"Tony, that's great! You just saved us a ton of work," McGee said. "I'll get right on it just as soon as I…"

"Have Abby explain it to you again?"

"No!…Okay, yes…I'll let you know when we have something. Thanks." McGee said, cutting the connection.

Tony staggered, leaning heavily against Gibbs.

"Boss," he mumbled, no longer able to shake off the effects of the painkiller. "My work here is done…I gotta go back to bed."

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Thirteen**

With agents covering all entrances to Tony's apartment building, McGee and Agent Kendall accompanied Tony and Gibbs to Bethesda Hospital for Tony's appointment and scans.

While the agents waited outside, Gibbs was back in the visitor's chair waiting for Tony to sleep off the effects of another sedative. Several times he'd stirred restlessly and opened his eyes long enough for Gibbs to see the large dilated pupils with a hint of green around the edges.

The former Marine watched as Tony flared his nostrils and inhaled. The smell of coffee and the sound of Gibbs rustling the newspaper or shifting his weight in the unforgiving chair, were enough to let the younger man know that he wasn't alone - then he would relax into sleep once more.

Gibbs recognised the warning signs as Tony's legs moved restlessly beneath the thin blanket, his brow creased in a frown and his breathing became ragged. Putting the newspaper to one side, he reached for the emesis basin, raised the head of the bed and pressed the call button. The nurse arrived, smiling empathetically as Tony retched into the bowl.

"I'll get you some Compazine for the nausea and let Dr Colby know you're awake," she said hurrying from the room. She returned, moments later, and gave Tony a shot that would, hopefully, suppress his nausea.

Chief Neurologist, Dr Colby, entered the room and greeted the two men.

"Well, now, judging from the agents who have been cluttering up my ward, I'm guessing you ignored my advice to take it easy," Colby said. "I heard you had some excitement."

"Sorry, Doc," Tony said quietly.

The doctor frowned when he saw the angry, red grazes on Tony's arms.

"Is that how these happened?"

Tony pulled his arm irritably from the doctor's grip, uncomfortable with anyone touching him without warning.

"I'm fine," he said sharply.

"Doctor Mallard checked him out," Gibbs told the doctor.

"I'm sure that was a nasty experience - having a fall is never pleasant but when you're visually impaired it can be terrifying."

Noting that Tony was stilling struggling with fatigue and nausea, he advised Tony's results without further delay.

"Let's get on with this, shall we? The hairline fracture you suffered to the occipital bone has begun to heal nicely but, unfortunately, we are yet to see any discernable reduction in the swelling around your occipital cortex," the doctor said.

"No change at all?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm sorry, none at this stage," Colby repeated. "Despite how it must feel for you, Tony, it's still very early in the recovery process but it is beginning to look like this condition could be more long term than we'd hoped."

Tony's face was unreadable as he stared into the darkness, lost in his thoughts.

"How are the headaches?" the doctor asked.

"Tony?" Colby called again.

"I'm sorry…what?"

"Are you still suffering from regular headaches?"

Tony nodded dully.

"How bad?

When Tony didn't reply Colby turned to Gibbs.

"Some worse than others. Seem to be worse at night." Gibbs replied.

"That's not unusual. These types of headaches are often exacerbated by fatigue and stress," the doctor said making notes on Tony's chart. "I was pleased to learn that Tony has begun his Visual Rehab Therapy. Steve Myles is one of our best therapists. How's that going?"

"He's progressing."

"I'm sure he'll do well." Colby shifted uncomfortably and cleared his voice. "Tony, I think we should reduce your hospital appointments to once a week."

Although Gibbs didn't think it was possible, Tony paled even further and looked like he'd been struck.

"If you're worried about payment of Tony's medical bills…" Gibbs started sternly.

The doctor cut him off mid-sentence.

"This has nothing to do with cost, Agent Gibbs! NCIS has already contacted us in regard to accepting all expenses," Colby said indignantly. "I am quite concerned about putting Tony through the scans twice weekly, when the effect of the contrasting agent, sedatives and the stress is obviously very difficult on him."

Tony averted his face for just a moment and although he appeared to quickly recover his countenance, Gibbs could see by the set of his shoulders that the younger man was fighting to maintain his composure.

"I can handle it, Doc," Tony replied in a strangled whisper.

"I'm sorry, Tony, it simply would not be in your best interests to put you through undue stress and discomfort," Colby said. "Go home, continue taking your meds and get as much rest as you can. Remember, if your headaches increase in frequency or intensity, I want you back at the hospital stat. I'll reschedule Thursday's appointment to this time next week."

Tony nodded his reply - frustrated by his inability to squeeze the words passed the lump in his throat – and the doctor left the room.

"Tony, this doesn't mean…"

"Boss, don't…I…I just wanna get outta here."

Gibbs winced at the hollow frailty of the voice he barely recognised as Tony's - but with a quick squeeze of the younger man's shoulder, he moved into his guide position and assisted Tony to the bathroom so he could dress in private.

McGee and Kendall were immediately on alert as Gibbs led Tony from his room. Receiving a nod from Gibbs, Kendall ran ahead, taking the stairs and moving their car into position in the ambulance bay. Gibbs, McGee and a very subdued Tony entered the elevator when it arrived – McGee flashed his badge and waved away three others who tried to board.

He turned to look at Tony and could only recall him looking so completely gutted on two or three other occasions – each had involved the death of a colleague.

"So…er…how'd it go?" he asked nervously.

Tony averted his face and Gibbs shook his head quickly, warning the younger agent that now wasn't a good time. They felt the elevator come to a halt and Gibbs and McGee moved into position, either side of Tony, their bodies protecting his. As the doors opened, Agent Kendall was waiting for them and, with trained eyes searching every face and anticipating every possible scenario they moved across the lobby of the emergency ward to the ambulance bay and climbed into their car.

The trip back to Tony's apartment was made in silence and without incident. Once Gibbs and Tony were safely home, McGee and Kendall headed back to the Navy yard to continue their investigations.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

As they quietly ate their lunch, Gibbs wrestled with his preference of giving Tony his privacy or Ducky's advice to draw him into talking through his emotions. He was more than aware of the irony that he, of all people, was contemplating trying to get the younger man to open up about his feelings. The bemoaning of 3 ex-wives had left him in no doubt that he was about as emotionally reserved, restrained and undemonstrative as they come. He allowed himself a wistful smile - he hadn't always been that way.

He'd actually opened his mouth several times to begin but his words had failed him and despite the anticipated rebuke from Ducky, Gibbs decided to go with his gut. He knew that Tony would talk to him eventually, he generally always did, but it would happen on the younger man's terms, when he was ready, and no amount of coaxing cajoling or encouraging would change that fact.

Right now, Tony didn't need Gibbs to be a pseudo-shrink or a father confessor – he needed Gibbs to be Gibbs. He needed to know that somewhere in his world of confusion, pain and despair a little bit of normality remained. That normality was their friendship of nine years and - at this point in time – it was the greatest gift he could offer Tony.

Gibbs walked into the living room to retrieve his ringing cell from the pocket of his jacket. He was pleased that Tony had at least managed a few spoonfuls of soup and half a sandwich before he'd sated his feeble appetite. After a brief discussion, he returned to the dining area.

"Vance is coming to talk to you tomorrow," Gibbs advised. "Wants to discuss your career options within the agency."

Tony closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh.

"It's not what you think, Tony."

"Can I keep my job as your senior field agent?" Tony asked.

Gibbs' silence told him all he needed to know.

"Then it's exactly what I think," he said flatly, before rising to his feet and heading for his room.

"Tony?"

"I'm tired, Boss, I'm gonna lay down."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs worked on his project for the rest of the afternoon, putting the finishing touches in place just a few hours before the scheduled dinner. For the first time, he began to doubt the wisdom of his choice and - not for the first time - he doubted the wisdom of this dinner. When he tried to call Abby to reschedule the evening, his call diverted to her voicemail. He phoned Ducky with the same intention and was told that Abby was already excitedly shopping for gifts and collecting the cake. His gut twisted again and he hoped the evening wasn't going to be a complete disaster.

He reached for his cell and dialled McGee's number.

"Tell me you got something," he said.

"Hey, Boss," McGee said. "No hits yet on the BOLO for Turner's truck. Turner withdrew $1000 from an ATM in Fairfax yesterday morning at 10:23, approximately half an hour after neighbours reported him leaving his home. There have been no further usages of his accounts or his credit cards – he's probably using cash to lay low."

"His wife?"

"Mrs Elaine Turner is listed as critical but stable. Doctors have placed her in an induced coma – it could be several days before we can speak to her."

"What do we know about him?"

"Harold Turner - 61 years old, former US Army sergeant, who served two tours of Nam," McGee reported. "Exemplary record, he was honourably discharged from the Army in 1976 and was employed as a plumber until two years ago – he's currently listed as unemployed. Turner is a known alcoholic who has been arrested 3 times in the last two year for domestic violence. Each time his wife refused to press charges. He has also had a drink driving charge and was ordered to enter a DUI Driving School. Their only child, Allan Turner…well…you know about him, Boss, but apparently he was the apple of his old man's eye –according to his father couldn't do a thing wrong."

"Tell that to the family of Petty Officer Lauren Henry," Gibbs said bitterly. "What about the exhaust modifications DiNozzo was talking about?"

"Tony was right about that, Boss," McGee said. "Out of 12,000 Ford F-150's in the tri-state area, approximately 2,000 have had custom-fitted, high-performance, exhaust modifications. Of those, most have the…er…the…you know the ones where the exhaust pipes stick out the back. Only about 10% have had the…er…the side one."

"Which narrows your list of possibilities from 12,000 to 200," Gibbs said.

"We have Metro PD working with us to contact High Performance Exhaust companies in the area – we'll put a list together of owners of dark blue Ford F-150's with side exhausts and cross-check it with yours and Tony's lists of…er…usual suspects. It's time consuming and still a long shot, Boss, but the odds are significantly better than they were."

"You gotta team?"

"A temporary team, yes, Boss," McGee said. "The director has assigned Keating, Harris and Kendall to give me a hand."

"Keep 'em on it, McGee, we want this guy fast," Gibbs said. "See you at six."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs watched his senior field agent intently throughout dinner. It was all there - the engaging smiles, the quick wit, the casual conversation, the tender hugs with Abby and the easy banter with Palmer and McGee – and none of it was real.

DiNozzo was playing a part, going through the motions and exhibiting all the skills that made him a fine undercover agent. He was putting on a one man show and giving his friends the Anthony DiNozzo he thought they'd be most comfortable with – coping, adjusted, getting on with his life – and viciously suppressing his anger, sorrow and despair.

With dinner eaten and the empty pizza boxes despatched to the recycling receptacle, the group adjourned to the living room for coffee and to open the gifts before cutting Tony's cake.

"Here you are, Anthony," Ducky said, handing Tony a meticulously wrapped parcel once everyone was seated. "If nobody else minds, why don't you start with my gift? But first – allow me."

Ducky took Tony's hand and fastened the watchband around his wrist. Tony let his fingers flip the newly replaced crystal and checked the time.

"Nineteen-fifteen, right?" he said, ridiculously happy to have the timepiece back. "Thank you, Ducky, but really guys, dinner was enough, you didn't have to get me anything."

As he struggled with the wrapping paper, Abby offered her services and soon had the gift unwrapped. Tony felt the box and gave an embarrassed shrug.

"That, my young friend, is a grocery list organizer. It's very easy to use and features state-of-the-art voice recognition software that allows you to simply speak the item's name, rather than having to write it. Then, you press the print button and the grocery list organizer prints out your shopping list organized in categories, such as "frozen foods" or "produce." According to the manufacturer, it recognizes over 2,500 grocery items!."

"Then you can give me your list and I'd know exactly what you need when I shop for you!" Abby said.

"Wow, Ducky that's incredible," McGee enthused. "Although, in Tony's case it would only need to know about five items – frozen pizza, Cheerios, beer, chocolate Yoo Hoo and hair product."

Tony's smile faltered slightly as he extended his hand in Ducky's direction and felt the older man grasp it warmly.

"Ducky…that's…that's a big help, thank you," Tony said tentatively.

"Open mine next, Tony, please, please, please?" Abby said, placing her gift on his knee and assisting him to remove the wrapping. Tony held the item in his hand, trying to guess what it was. When he shook his head, Abby explained.

"Well, we all know what a clothes horse you are, Mister," she said. "So, this is a** c**olour identification device to help you match the colours of your clothes! It's so totally cool, Tony! You just hold the device against the article of clothing and this voice says 'cerise' or 'puce' – not that you have any cerise or puce clothes but you get the idea. Oh, at the moment, the voice has this really creepy Hannibal Lector sound but you can change it to, like, Austin Powers or Marilyn Monroe - even Elvis or the Duke! And, it is able to detect more than 1,700 different colours!"

"One for each of your designer ensembles, Tony," Palmer quipped.

"So now you don't have to worry if you're, like, wearing matching socks or if your tie matches your shirt," Abby said. "And you'll still be the snappiest dresser in DC!"

"Thanks, Abs, that's really great," Tony said quietly, wrapping her in a warm embrace. As he kissed her cheek and tucked his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder, Gibbs saw the façade slip again and felt his own chest tighten.

"Okay, me next!" McGee said, slipping a small package into Tony's hand. As Abby helped Tony unwrap the gift, McGee described it. "I know how much you loved your X-Box and how much you must be missing it, so I did some research and I found this game for you," McGee explained. "It's called TROG and you're trapped in a labyrinth with a murderous caveman and must avoid him to continue playing the game. If the caveman finds you, the game is over. Your points depend on how long you can avoid the caveman."

"Hey…I've heard about those!" Jimmy said. "It's all about sound. The background music plays a specific tempo or volume depending upon how far you are from TROG. It takes a little getting used to but it's one of the most popular computer games for visually impaired people."

"That's great, man," Tony said, forcing a smile and giving McGee a friendly slap on the back.

"Maybe Jimmy and I can come over one night and we'll give it a run," McGee said.

"Hey, me too!" Abby protested.

"Absolutely!" Tony replied tightly.

Gibbs studied Tony's brittle smile and noticed the depth of despair in the man's unfocussed green eyes. Although he tried valiantly, it was fast becoming obvious that every single movement was hard fought for control.

When it came to DiNozzo, Gibbs realised a long time ago that you didn't have to come from the same gene pool to hear the unspoken words. They had long shared the intrinsic ability to read a glance, a look or an expression without the need to verbally express their thoughts or feelings - but, right now, Tony's expression was screaming for help and Gibbs couldn't see the danger. Frustrated that he was missing something, the lead agent looked around the room, his eyes narrowing in search of anything that could have triggered such inner turmoil in his agent.

A soft knock brought a halt to proceedings and gave Tony a moment to collect himself as Gibbs and McGee took their positions on either side of the door. Gibbs looked through the peephole and waved at the others to relax as he opened the door.

"Mrs Cantrell," he said. "Nice to see you again."

"Come now, Jethro! You promised to call me Gladys!" she scolded gently. "I hope I'm not intruding, I have a little birthday gift for Anthony."

"No intrusion at all, Ma'am, please come in."

The elderly lady rushed to sit beside Tony on the couch, enveloping him in a hug that rivalled Abby's.

"Oh, my poor boy, look at you," she said, holding Tony's face between the palms of her hands. "You look tired and pale! Are you sleeping? And you look thin! I don't think Jethro is feeding you enough! I'll do some more cooking – you can't beat a home-cooked meal, my Arthur used to say!"

Tony's face flushed as his neighbour made a fuss.

"I'm fine, Mrs Cantrell, honest," he said, quietly.

She placed a kiss on both of Tony's cheeks and squeezed them together until his lips puckered.

"You're still a devilishly handsome young man, Anthony DiNozzo! Why if I was just fifty years younger…"

"You'd be too much woman for me!" Tony smiled fondly.

"And don't you forget it, young man!" Gladys scolded playfully.

Gibbs introduced Mrs Cantrell to the rest of the visitors, who were a little surprised that she and Jimmy had already met. They warmly welcomed her and asked her to join them for cake.

"Excuse my curiosity, Mrs Cantrell," Ducky said. "I am a little intrigued as to how you know my young assistant here?"

"Please, call me Gladys," Mrs Cantrell asked, with a not too subtle flutter of her eyelashes. "I met Jimmy several months ago. He and Anthony were planning to attend a tap dancing class to impress a couple of very pretty young ladies. I teach an advanced tap dancing class each Thursday at the senior's centre so, when they knocked on my door and asked for my help, I just couldn't refuse them. Of course, the lessons disappeared almost as quickly as the young ladies! Probably just as well, they really were quite awful!"

McGee snorted at the visual and Abby smiled brightly.

"Aw…that's so cute!" she said.

"I can't stay too long, my darling," Mrs Cantrell said taking Tony's hand. "Tomorrow is the regional final of the Gymnastics for Geriatrics competition and I have to be up bright and early. I'm competing in the floor discipline and it's the first time I've been able to perform my front handspring with a double soli since I had my hip replacement. But I have a little something for you."

She placed the small gift in Tony's hand and then assisted him with the wrapping. It felt the size and weight of a cell phone.

"It's called a locator, Anthony," she explained. "It's a small remote with six buttons. You attach the six wireless sensors in different places like your wallet, keys or cell. Then, when you need to find something, you just press the button and it will make a unique sound so you can find it."

Tony took a moment to allow a deep, composing breath, then reached out to Gladys who gently held his hand between both of hers.

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely as he kissed her on the cheek.

Her eyes swam behind a curtain of tears as she cleared her throat of emotion and turned to Ducky.

"Donald? Why don't you and I prepare the cake and get better acquainted and leave these young folk to clean up all this paper?" she asked.

"I'd be honoured, dear lady," Ducky said graciously extending elbow and escorting her to the kitchen.

"Okay, Palmer, your turn and make it fast – I took a peek at that cake and it looks delicious!" McGee said.

Palmer shifted his weight awkwardly and chewed his bottom lip.

"Maybe I shouldn't…um…I mean, I didn't realise that we were all getting that type of gift."

"Come on, Jimmy, I'm sure Tony will love whatever you got for him," Abby said. "Besides, I'm with Timmy, you're messing with some serious cake eating time."

Lowering his head in embarrassment, Jimmy placed a rectangular shaped box into Tony's hands. Again, Abby did the honours, assisting to open the box. Trying to shut down his emotions, Tony slipped his hand into the gift box. He moved his fingers around, feeling the soft warm texture as he removed the v-neck, cable knit sweater from the box.

"I…er…remembered you told me that you put your other sweater in the drier and ruined it," Jimmy said. "It's not cashmere like your old one…but it's the same style and colour."

Tony struggled to his feet, reeling from torrent of his emotions and desperately trying to regain the tenuous grip on his composure. He held the sweater in his shaking hands and couldn't help the strangled laugh that escaped.

"Tony?" Abby said worriedly. "Tony, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Tony, I'll return it…I'll get you something else!"

A sweater, a simple gift from a friend was all it took to rip asunder the long-constructed shields he had diligently built around his real emotions. He was momentarily disoriented, catching his knee on the coffee table and sending two cups crashing to the floor as he tried to regain his balance.

The former Marine had started across the room and was at his agent's side when the telltale red dot of a laser sight appeared - first on Gibbs then, as the younger man unknowingly stumbled between Gibbs and the sniper, the dot centred on Tony's chest.

"Shooter!" Gibbs yelled. "Everyone down!"

Gibbs hit Tony with a force that knocked him off his feet just as the crack from a rifle sounded and the floor to ceiling balcony door exploded into a myriad of tiny little crystal prisms.

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Fourteen**

Reflexes kicking into gear, Gibbs launched himself at Tony, hitting him hard enough to knock him off his feet just as the unmistakable crack from a rifle was heard. The sliding glass door exploded into a million tiny crystals that rained down upon them. He was unable to control their descent and they hit the floor hard with Tony taking Gibbs' full weight. The bone-rattling jolt forced the air from Tony's lungs with a mighty 'oomph.'

He assessed their situation with one quick glance around the room. Palmer was laying six feet to the right, McGee had pulled Abby down with him and they were lying next to the couch while Ducky and Mrs Cantrell were on the floor in the dining area. All looked to be unhurt.

"Stay down!" he yelled.

Shifting his weight from the prone body beneath him, the lead agent quickly turned Tony onto his side. Tony's eyes were shut tightly as he gasped for breath, his pale face rapidly changing colour due to lack of oxygen and for a terrifying moment, Gibbs thought Tony had been hit. He ran his hands over Tony's upper torso and exhaled loudly when he confirmed that his agent had not been wounded.

Looking up he noticed that Palmer was crawling quickly on all fours to their position.

"Check him out and stay with him," Gibbs said, receiving a quick nod from Palmer.

Ignoring the pain in his knee, Gibbs ran at a crouch to the side of the now missing sliding door, flicking the lights off as he ran. He heard McGee already advising the agents downstairs that shots had been fired.

"Shot had to come from the roof of the building directly opposite," Gibbs said after a sweeping glance of the possible sniper vantage positions.

McGee passed the information to the agents outside then purposely blocked Gibbs' path as he ran for the door.

"I got this, Boss," McGee said.

"Step aside, McGee."

"Not this time," the young man replied firmly. "I saw that laser, too. Until Tony stepped in front of you, the laser was pointed at you. Stay with Tony, I can do this."

McGee sighed in frustration as Gibbs reached around him and opened the door. Reluctantly he stepped out of the lead agent's path.

"Go!" Gibbs said, noting the look of surprise and then pride that flittered across the younger man's face. "Watch your six."

"On it, Boss!" McGee said, running out the door.

"Lay back, Tony, everybody's fine. Just breathe slowly," Palmer's concerned voice drew Gibbs' attention from McGee's departing back. At Gibbs' questioning look Jimmy replied.

"I think he's just had the wind knocked out of him. He's dizzy and a bit disoriented," Jimmy said.

"Tony, did you hit your head?" Gibbs said worriedly.

Still concentrating on getting his breathing under control, Tony didn't reply.

"I checked for a head injury, Agent Gibbs," Jimmy said. "I think he's just dizzy because he's not getting enough air – he'll be fine in a few minutes."

Gibbs shepherded Ducky, Mrs Cantrell and Abby into the small, windowless hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom, then he and Palmer helped Tony. Until they knew the location of the shooter, he was making sure they stayed well clear of the windows.

"How are you feeling, Anthony?" Ducky asked.

"M'fine, Ducky," Tony mumbled.

"His pulse is racing but his breathing is returning to normal," Palmer answered.

Gibbs had taken a seat on the floor next to Abby, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"You okay, Abs?"

"I'm fine, Gibbs…well, not fine as in 'fine and dandy' because someone out there just shot at us and ruined Tony's birthday not-party but I'm fine as in not hurt – McGee pushed me to the floor," Abby said.

Several feet away Ducky and Mrs Cantrell both looked a little shaken.

"Ma'am, you sure you're not hurt?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm fine, Jethro," she assured him. "Good heavens, what a way to end a lovely evening. There's nothing like sniper fire to ruin a good evening, my Arthur used to say."

"Thank heavens Doctor Mallard was close enough to get you safely out of harms way," Jimmy said.

"Are you sure you're not hurt, Mrs Cantrell?" Abby asked. "I'm, like, totally sure that I'll be covered in bruises tomorrow and Gibbs nearly pummelled Tony into the floor."

"Got a bullet hole in ya, Abs?" Gibbs asked, justifying his and McGee's actions.

Ducky cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I must confess that, on this occasion, my own lightning fast reflexes were a little lacking. It was Mrs Cantrell who pushed _me _safely to the floor. Just what was that move, dear lady, some form of martial arts?"

"Oh good heavens no," Mrs Cantrell giggled. "That was a standard take down manoeuvre from my Greco-Roman Wrestling class that I take on Friday mornings."

"Wow! That's way cool!" Abby said. "African tribal dancing, Gymnastics for Geriatrics, advanced tap dancing and Greco-Roman wrestling. When I grow up, I want to be just like you…I don't suppose you bowl, too?"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

McGee had reported back over an hour ago that the shooter had cleared the area; he had policed his shells and left no sign of his presence. The building did not have security cameras fitted and despite an on-going search of the building opposite, it was likely the shooter was long gone.

Abby had extracted the bullet from the wall in the living room and bagged it for ballistics testing and identification and Palmer had given her a lift back to the Navy yard.

Mrs Cantrell had invited Ducky to her apartment for a nightcap leaving Gibbs, Tony and McGee in the apartment.

McGee flipped his cell closed and walked into the bedroom. Tony sat on his bed his expression leaving no doubts about his indignation as Gibbs packed him a bag.

"The building manager has arranged for a glazier to fix the window, Boss, and Harris and Kendall are waiting in the car downstairs to take you to your place," McGee said. "I'll escort you down and then go see if Abby has anything on the bullet."

Tony's arms were firmly crossed against his chest and his jaw was set stubbornly. He opened his mouth to speak when Gibbs cut him off.

"You're going, DiNozzo," the lead agent replied in a no-nonsense tone.

"Why your place? If the shooter's after you, wouldn't it make more sense for me to stay here and _you_ to go?"

"Well, actually, Tony," McGee said. "While it's more than likely the boss was the intended target, we haven't confirmed that yet."

"Not helping, Probie!" Tony snapped.

"I'll…er…just wait in the living room," McGee said, making a hasty exit.

"I'm not leaving you alone," Gibbs said folding two pairs of jeans and several shirts into the bag.

"So you stay, too!"

"The gaping hole in your living room tells me that didn't work out too well before!"

Gibbs replied. "My place is easier to protect than yours."

"And your place has all kinds of stairs and furniture that I can trip over and break my neck!" Tony said churlishly. "I want to stay here!"

Gibbs threw Tony's sweats into the duffel and exhaled loudly.

"That's what's eating you? Hell, DiNozzo, you've been coming over to my house for nine years and I haven't bought a stick of furniture since I met you – you know my place like you know your own."

"But it's _not _my own is it? And once again I'm forced into something I don't wanna do because everybody else seems to know what's _freaking best for me_!"

"Soon as we get this guy, you can come back," Gibbs said firmly. "You ready to go."

"Does it matter?" Tony said peevishly, reluctantly taking Gibbs' guiding arm and allowing himself to be led from his apartment."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

After ensuring Gibbs and Tony made it safely to the car where agents Kendall and Harris were waiting, McGee drove back to the Navy yard.

Styrofoam coffee cup in hand, he walked into Abby's lab, placing a large Caf-Pow on her counter.

"What've you got, Abs," he said.

Abby raised an eyebrow and bit back a grin, remembering the ribbing McGee gave Tony for drinking coffee while he was acting team leader.

"The bullet I removed from Tony's living room wall was a 5.56x45mm, commonly used in M16 rifles," she said. "As you know, the M16 is the rifle of choice used by the US military forces but not exclusively so – any federal firearms licensed gun dealer would be able to sell you one."

"That's if you wanted to buy it legally."

"Right, otherwise if you know the right people, you could probably buy one on the streets."

"Abs, Turner and his father, Harry, both served in the military. Both would know how to handle a rifle. Did you run a check to see whether Harry Turner holds a gun licence?"

"Yep!" Abby replied, picking up her Caf-Pow and taking a long drink.

"And?" McGee asked.

Abby held up her index finger to silence him until she'd slaked her mighty thirty. McGee huffed his impatience but had no choice but to wait until the Goth scientist finished her drink.

"Ahhh, that's better! Sorry, McGee, but my mouth was drier than happy hour at the Betty Ford clinic!" Abby said, smacking her lips together. "Harold Turner has a firearms licence and according to ATF records, he owns an M16. There's no ballistics record on file but if you get me the weapon I can run it against the bullet that I took from Tony's wall."

"With the threats against the boss, we have enough for a warrant to search the Turner house for the weapon. He has more than likely got it with him but we just might turn up something else that will help us find him. Thanks, Abs," McGee said heading for the elevator.

"Wait, wait, McGee!" Abby called after him.

"Was there something else, Abs?"

"I'm worried about Tony," she said, chewing lightly on her lower lip. "Something wasn't right, he looked…I don't know…upset or something!"

"Someone nearly killed him, Abs, twice! Even though that seems to happen to Tony on a regular basis - being blind has to be terrifying for him."

"I'm talking about _before _the shooting, Timmy! Tony seemed really emotional and he never gets upset - never, ever, it's against the DiNozzo code!"

"There's a DiNozzo code?"

"You know, silly, DiNozzo's never pass out, DiNozzo's never date women that eat more than they do and…DiNozzo's never, ever cry!"

"Tony wasn't crying, Abs."

Abby rolled her eyes heavenward and punched McGee in the arm.

"I know he wasn't crying, McGee, but something was, like, totally wrong!"

"Look, Abs, this is a huge adjustment for Tony and it's gotta be hard for him," McGee said, rubbing the pain from his shoulder. "He's with Gibbs and if anyone can get him through this, Gibbs can."

"I guess," Abby said sadly.

"I gotta go get that warrant – go home, Abs, get some sleep!"

"Not so fast, Mister!" Abby called, stopping him in his tracks. "Get your skinny little booty back over here!"

"Abs?" McGee said, confused.

"You forgot something."

"I did?"

"You _totally_ did."

When McGee still looked confused a moment later, Abby tilted her head and pointed to her cheek. McGee leaned in a planted a quick kiss on her porcelain cheek.

"Much better," she said, waving him away dismissively. "Go! Find bad men!"

As she watched him jog from the lab and press the call button for the elevator she smiled cheekily. "Girl's gotta get her sugar fix!"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

With the added tension of having to leave his home, the mild headache Tony had been suffering from since the shooting had escalated to a full-blown migraine. He was still getting used to car travel and the drive across town left him feeling light-headed and bilious.

It was almost midnight by the time they'd arrived at Gibbs' home. Agents Kendall and Harris diligently checked every room and the front and backyards before taking up positions outside the house.

There were three steps from the path to the front patio; another one at the front door and, across the living room, a narrow staircase with fourteen stairs and a small landing at the halfway point, led to the upstairs bedrooms. Gibbs was right; Tony had spent enough time in his home to be very familiar with the layout – but that was when he'd been sighted. Finding your way around someone else's home when you can't see was a new and frightening experience.

Gibbs led him into the spacious spare bedroom and unpacked his clothes into the first two drawers of the large solidly built dresser while Tony took his bathroom kit to the guest bathroom across the hall. He tried to visualise the layout of the cabinet and vanity then swore angrily under his breath when he dropped his tube of toothpaste and heard it bounce across the tiled floor.

He leant forward, sighing deeply and resting his forehead on the bathroom mirror. He relished the coolness of the glass against his overly warm skin. Squatting on his haunches he leaned forward and started systematically searching the floor with both hands. Feeling something with his fingertips, he reached quickly to the right and hit his cheekbone against the side of the bath. Frustrated and with his head pounding, he stood quickly and struck his head painfully on the towel rack.

"_Son of a bitch!" _he yelled furiously, climbing shakily to his feet and holding the sink for support.

"You okay?" Gibbs called.

"I'm fine!" he snapped back. "Don't come in here!"

"Take it easy, I'm not coming in," Gibbs replied with a calmness and patience he didn't know he still possessed. "I'll be downstairs."

Too tired and angry to continue the search, he brushed his teeth without toothpaste, washed his face and took care of business, then cautiously found his way back into the bedroom. He felt his way along the bed realising Gibbs had laid out his sweats, and folded the comforter at the foot of the bed. He changed into his sweats and heard the squeak of the stairs as Gibbs returned.

"Got some water and your meds. Must've left a bottle at your apartment. I'll get it tomorrow."

Gibbs placed a small bottle of water in one of Tony's hands and the meds into the open palm of the other hand and silently assessed his agent's expression and body language. He decided very quickly that the younger man was both livid and hurting.

"You need to tell me if that headache gets any worse."

Surprise flittered briefly over Tony's features and then his expression shut down once more.

"Bad one?"

Tony nodded dully, too tired and too pissed for small talk.

Gibbs opened a bottle of painkillers and gave Tony another pill. He watched as the younger man washed it down with more water.

"This may not be what you wanted but it's how it has to be…just for a few days."

Gibbs walked to the door and watched as Tony climbed into bed. Tony heard the click of the light switch as the lights were flicked off.

"Get some sleep," Gibbs said but silence was his only reply.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

As morning announced itself with the intrusion of sunlight, Gibbs felt more exhausted than he'd been when he'd hit the rack the previous night. He had spent the night alternating between tossing and turning and checking on DiNozzo who – with the aid of painkillers – went out like a light the minute his head hit the pillow.

The look of devastation and anguish he had seen on his agent's face as he opened his birthday gifts, had shocked him. He knew the younger man was not impervious to feelings of distress, misery and despair but, in nine years, had Gibbs rarely seen them rise so close to the surface – particularly in public

But it was the look of hurt and betrayal that reflected in Tony's sightless green eyes when he was _told_ he was leaving his apartment, that bothered Gibbs greatly. Despite the necessity of the situation, they'd stripped him of the only thing he'd asked for since the accident – control of his own decisions.

Coffee – he needed coffee. He'd make breakfast and hopefully, after a good night's sleep, the younger man would be more accepting of the situation. He went downstairs to the kitchen, checking that the agents were still in position at the front and back of his house. He started the coffee machine and went back upstairs to shower and dress.

Feeling considerably fresher after his shower, he was just pulling the worn USMC t-shirt over his head when he heard a loud thump from the guest room. Alarmed that Tony may have fallen he quickly walked down the hallway and opened the door, disturbed to find Tony desperately feeling his way around the room.

"Tony?"

"I can't find it! It has to be here but I…I can't find it!"

Gibbs held Tony by the shoulders and turned him so he was facing him. Tony's pupils were still dilated, edged with a hint of green, and the former Marine wasn't sure that his agent was even awake.

"What can't you find?"

"The door," Tony said worriedly. "The door to my bathroom. I can't find it!"

Gibbs drew a fortifying breath.

"Tony, you're at _my_ house, in _my_ guest room. We came here last night."

Tony's face was expressionless for several seconds before the recollection hit and his face flushed with the heat of embarrassment. He pulled away from Gibbs mumbling an apology and stumbled toward the bed. Gibbs grabbed his bicep to support him.

"You need to hit the head?"

After several seconds of silence Tony nodded dully, still obviously feeling the pull of the meds.

"Come on," Gibbs said softly, helping Tony to his feet and across the hall.

Even drugged to the gills, the younger man's stubborn streak rose to the fore and he pulled away from Gibbs and closed the door quickly as if the lead agent had intended to follow him inside.

"Shoot straight, DiNozzo, or you'll be mopping up yourself, " Gibbs called through the door.

Bathroom business attended to, Gibbs assisted Tony back into the guest room where Tony fell back onto the bed. Gibbs turned to the wardrobe to select Tony's clothes.

"You want to shower or eat breakfast first?"

When Gibbs turned around, Tony's long limbs were strewn across the bed, his head canted to the side and the sound of soft snores escaped between slightly parted lips.

"Or…you could sleep some more," Gibbs said with a wry grin and shake of his head.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

She entered the lobby of the building, her confident stride masking the nervousness she felt being in such close proximity. She walked to the reception area and rang the buzzer for the building manager. The tall, fifty-something man with dark hair greying at the temples, looked a tad dishevelled as he opened the door to his residence and stepped out to greet her.

"May I help you, Miss?" he asked.

"I am sure that you can," she said with a small smile. "I would like to leave this parcel for one of your residents. Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

"You a friend of Tony's?"

"Ye-…we work together," Ziva replied.

"Well if you work with Tony, I'm surprised you don't know."

"Know what?" she said fear clenching her chest.

"Someone put a bullet through Tony's window last night – I had the glazier here till four o'clock this morning."

"And Tony?"

"Heard he's fine. No one got hurt. His friends whisked him away somewhere safe till they catch whoever did it. Gotta feel for the guy though, with everything he's been through lately and now this. I can take that parcel if you like but I can't say when he'll get it."

"No, thank you. I will get it to him some other way."

She turned and almost ran from the building, speed dialling McGee as she went. The call was answered on the third ring.

"McGee, why was I not told about the attempt on Tony's life last night?"

"Well, firstly, Ziva, good morning, and secondly, we're not sure whether it was an attempt on Tony's life or on Gibbs'," McGee said. "It happened late last night and I've been kinda busy trying to find the guy since then. I _was_ going to call you this morning, however."

"I am sorry, McGee, I did not mean to be abrupt."

"You were worried about Tony, I understand. Hey, how'd you find out about this anyway?"

"Tony's building manager told me when I called by a few moments ago."

"To see Tony?"

"To leave his birthday gift," she said. "I do not believe he would want to speak with me so soon after…"

"Give him a chance, Ziva, I think he might surprise you."

"I am not so sure. McGee, if I drop this gift at your apartment, will you give it to Tony for me?"

"No, I'm sorry, Ziva, I won't."

"McGee…"

"No, this thing has gone on long enough, you need to talk to him, Ziva. He's staying at Gibbs' house. If there're any developments, I'll let you know. You need to do this."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

It was almost nine by the time Tony hauled himself out of bed and into the shower. He dressed and towel-dried his hair, without bothering to comb it. Gibbs watched from the kitchen door, his heart in his mouth, as Tony attempted to descend the staircase alone.

A picture of concentration, with one hand tightly gripping the railing and the other touching the wall, he slowly took one step at a time until he safely reached the bottom. Then he cautiously felt his way through the living room.

"Just in time, you almost missed breakfast," Gibbs said, using his voice to guide Tony into the kitchen where they took their seats at the small table.

"The plate is directly in front of you," Gibbs instructed calmly. "Sausage, eggs and those hash brown things you like. Cutlery is in the usual place beside the plate and your coffee is eight inches to your 1 o'clock. Got it?"

Tony nodded curtly.

"If you drop something, knock something over or if the egg drips down your chin – it won't be the first time I've had cause to question your table manners."

Gibbs was elated to see the fleeting grin and watched with interest as Tony picked up his fork and speared a hash brown. He frowned as it weighed much less than he anticipated.

"You _cut_ my food?" he said with an indignant tone.

"Did it when you broke your arm, did it now – what's the difference?" Gibbs said casually.

"The difference is I haven't got a _freaking_ broken arm, Gibbs! I'm not a kid, don't treat me like one!"

Gibbs raked his fingers through his hair and swallowed his own anger, amazed at his newfound patience with DiNozzo and his mood swings. He swapped Tony's plate for his own.

"You wanna cut, cut!"

He watched Tony struggle to cut his breakfast, silently cheering each successful thrust and capture as the young man obstinately battled his morning meal. His posture was stiff and tense and Gibbs could almost feel the anger building within. He managed to eat half of his meal before placing the cutlery across his plate to signal he was done.

"You look like crap," Gibbs said. "If you need more sleep I can call Vance, have him reschedule."

"No," Tony said sternly. "I need to talk to Vance – alone."

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Fifteen**

Breakfast had been punctuated with long, awkward silences. Gibbs' forced statements and Tony's grunted replies, were a far cry from the relaxed and easy conversations they had shared over meals during the past nine years.

When Tony had eaten his fill, he placed his cutlery across his plate and pushed back from the table.

"You look like crap," Gibbs said. "If you need more sleep I can call Vance, have him reschedule."

"No," Tony said sternly. "I need to talk to Vance – alone."

"Fair enough," Gibbs replied calmly, despite the sharp tone of the younger man's response.

At the sudden loss of his appetite, Gibbs was unable to finish his own meal and started to clear the dishes from the table when he eyed the checkers set on the sideboard. He reflected momentarily on the countless times - after an exhausting or particularly gruelling case – the pair had enjoyed a thick steak and a few beers and then faced off over a sometimes raucous and always hotly contested game of checkers. The company and the competition forced the horrors and frustrations of the job to the deepest corners of their minds - to be dealt with later in the form of nightmares.

**~oo00oo~**

Flashback

_The checkers set was beautifully hand crafted and polished and had been a gift from Jackson to his son when Gibbs had joined the Marines. The red cedar box had the initials LJG skilfully carved into the lid. Gibbs had lost count of the times he'd seen Tony running admiring fingers reverently over the pieces, whenever he thought no one was watching._

"_Your father ever make you anything?" Gibbs asked._

_Tony's smile was firmly in place but the look in his eyes was hard to determine – sad, wistful, pensive - he blinked the melancholy away and chuckled softly. _

"_My father's always been good with his hands, Boss – which may explain why I've had so many step-mothers – but he would never have made me something like this," he said, looking at the set with heartfelt deference. "Of course, had I asked for one, he might have sent his secretary out to buy me the best set money could buy but...it's not the same!"_

Like so many things Tony found difficult to discuss, the topic was disguised as a joke and never spoken of again but his regard for the craftsmanship, love and thought behind the gift continued to this day.

End Flashback

**~oo00oo~**

"Thought we could play some checkers, kill some time until the director arrives," Gibbs said.

"You wanna play checkers?" Tony repeated in surprise.

Gibbs shrugged. "Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know…how about the little matter of me not being able to see!" Tony replied cynically.

"Worried I'll cheat?"

"How would I know? _I can't see!_" Tony repeated impatiently.

"Don't need to be able to see," Gibbs replied casually. "You know how to play, you've got good recall – you can feel the board and the pieces if you need to."

Gibbs recognised his error as he watched the younger man's expression harden and saw the unspoken 'what are you kidding me?' written all over Tony's face.

"Here's an idea!" Tony said with a hint of acrimony that Gibbs had rarely heard in his voice. "Why don't we just hang a piñata? You can spin me around a few times and, hey, we don't even need the blindfold!"

"Knock it off!" Gibbs said sharply, his tone dousing the raging inferno of Tony's anger. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a long, controlled exhale and fighting the urge to strangle the younger man – at least for now.

Tony stood quickly, stumbling over the chair that had fallen in his haste to leave the room and then, after he regained his balance, he started for the stairs. He was well aware that his pissy attitude was testing the bonds of their friendships and - though he should have known better - he was terrified it was only a matter of time before those bonds were severed forever.

"I'll be upstairs until Vance arrives," he said flatly.

Gibbs waited until Tony had closed the door to the guest room before he slammed his hand onto the table, refusing to wince as the pain jarred up his arm.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Leaning forward on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees, Gibbs rubbed his hands roughly over his face. He glanced up at the closed door of the guest room and blew out a breath of frustration. Though Tony's words were laced with anger the look in his eyes was one of such desperate, hopelessness that Gibbs felt his gut clench painfully. He felt his agent's despair yet no matter how many times he cast the lifeline, it fell short every time. He needed to ensure the younger man didn't slip into a void of depression.

The sound of a car pulling up in the driveway caught his attention and he looked out of the window in time to see Director Vance climb from his car and speak with Agent Kendall. Ignoring the creaks from his knee, he climbed the stairs and knocked on the guest room door.

"Director's here," he said, opening the door and peering in to the darkened room. Tony was lying on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head as he stared futilely at an indiscriminate spot on the ceiling.

"I'll be right down," Tony replied.

Gibbs closed the door behind him and descended the stairs, arriving at the front door in time to greet the director and steer him into the kitchen for coffee.

"How's he doing?" Vance asked as they walked back into the living room and took a seat.

"About how you'd expect," Gibbs replied vaguely.

"You think he's ready to discuss his job options?"

"Said he wants to talk to you."

"That could be a good sign," Vance hoped.

Gibbs huffed out a humourless laugh and raked his fingers through his hair.

"Right now, Leon, I have no idea what's going on in his head."

Vance took a sip of coffee and his eyes narrowed in thought. Despite the implacable expression, he knew the admission from Gibbs was painful. Gibbs and DiNozzo were connected in a way Vance couldn't fully define. He watched them communicate on a subtle non-verbal level that only comes from complete trust and understanding. They drew strength from each other, both consciously and instinctively and if Gibbs was feeling uncertain then the younger man had to be floundering badly.

"He doesn't need to make a decision about work right now," Vance said. "This discussion is purely to reassure him that NCIS will support him in any way we can, including financially and finding a position for him within the agency. Did you speak to him about the blind reorientation centre?"

"Won't even consider it. Right now, he sees every offer of help as a sign that his blindness is permanent."

"Well, maybe, we…"

The creaking of the stairs alerted them to the fact that Tony was on his way down. They watched warily as he cautiously made his way down one stair at a time, one hand firmly gripping the railing while he ran the other lightly down the wall as a guide.

"Oh, hey, don't stop speaking because of me," he said with mock humour. "Unless, of course, you were speaking about me."

Ignoring the jibe, Gibbs walked to the bottom of the stairs and offered his guide arm to Tony by touching his elbow against the younger man's arm. With a curt shake of his head, Tony rejected the offer.

Vance walked around the couch and extended his hand to Tony with a light touch on the younger man's forearm. Tony extended his own and they shook hands firmly.

"Director, thanks for coming," Tony said in a tone that was strictly business.

"DiNozzo," Vance greeted in return. "Let's take a seat, shall we?"

"I'll get some more coffee and leave you to it," Gibbs said, remembering Tony had asked to speak with Vance alone.

A moment later he had refreshed his and Vance's cups and poured a cup for DiNozzo. He placed it on the coffee table and, in a low voice, told Tony where to find the cup and then he excused himself and entered his basement.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

He looked around the expanse of the empty room, desperately wishing he had a boat to work on - something in which he could completely immerse himself in its creation and shut out the feelings of helplessness that had been eating away at him since Tony's accident. He picked up the broom and swept the already spotlessly clean floor and then pulled the cell from his pocket.

He thumbed through the contact list until he found the name he was looking for. He paused momentarily, wondering if his action could be interpreted as an admission that he was unable to reach the man closer to him than any other. Ultimately, his need to help Tony far outweighed any feelings of inadequacy and he dialled the number and waited for the other party to pick up.

"Steve Myles, speaking."

"It's Jethro Gibbs, this a bad time?" he said, keeping his voice purposely low and listening for any movement from the living room.

"Agent Gibbs, no…this is fine," the amiable young man replied. "In fact, I was going to call you later today."

"You were?"

"Yes. Tony called me about 30 minutes ago and cancelled our appointment for tomorrow."

"He called you?"

"I placed my number on speed dial on his cell in case he had any questions," Steve explained. "He called to say he wasn't feeling well, thought he was getting the stomach flu, so I was going to call you later and see how he was."

Gibbs sighed.

"I…er…take it you didn't know," Steve said.

"No."

"And Tony's not really sick."

"He's been a hell of a lot better…but there's no stomach flu."

"I see." Came the empathetic reply.

He had only met Gibbs that one time at Tony's apartment but had immediately sensed the deep connection. Gibbs' uncomfortable silence was almost deafening so Steve forged ahead when he thought the agent could not.

"Tony is starting to realise that his blindness may be permanent," Steve said.

"That hasn't been confirmed," Gibbs stated, realising that, he was not ready to give up hope either.

"No, but it's probably going to take a little longer than you both thought, right?"

"Probably," Gibbs replied almost reluctantly.

"Let me guess, Tony's angry, hard to get on with, won't accept help, argumentative, belligerent…"

"You forgot stubborn, pig-headed and just plain pissed."

"Oh yeah, I gotta little sample of that at his apartment the other day," Steve chuckled softly. "Agent Gibbs, as much as I'd really like to help, you know that I'm not a psychologist, right? That's why I mentioned that many blind reorientation centres also have excellent professional counsellors on staff that can help Tony come to terms and accept his vision loss. There are also many support groups where Tony can receive the support of people who have also suffered from blindness or loss of vision."

"People like you."

"Well…yeah, I guess."

"That's why I called you," Gibbs said. "I don't know much about Neurological Vision Impairment, or the treatments, or anything else about being blind - but I do know DiNozzo. Any talk about counsellors or shrinks is gonna push him right over the edge. He likes you, he put his trust in you – that's not easy for him."

"I understand," Steve said thoughtfully. "Although Tony is voicing his anger and frustration, those emotions are masking the ones that we need to be most concerned about."

"Depression."

"Absolutely. Depression and fear is the real enemy here, Agent Gibbs," Steve said solemnly. "It's those feelings Tony has to deal with before he can move forward. There's a big difference between feeling depressed and clinical depression. I don't believe he's at the clinical depression stage but that's something you'll need to keep an eye on. If he won't seek professional help, he may find it helpful to share his feelings with a close family member or friend."

Gibbs sighed heavily again.

"Guess Tony's not a talker, right?"

"Not about things that matter."

"Not even with you?"

"DiNozzo's been my partner for nine years, I know him better than anyone but I can count the number of times he's really opened up to me on one hand."

"Then you need to find another way, Agent Gibbs, and you need to do it fast," Steve said. "No matter what he's thinking at the moment, Tony cannot get through this alone and he cannot move on until he's beaten the feelings of depression."

"Tell me how."

"You know the man - what's he really passionate about? You need to find that, Agent Gibbs, something that will break through his hopelessness and give him the push he needs to move forward."

With those words echoing in this mind, they agreed to keep in touch and ended the call.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs went back to sweeping the clean floor, needing to keep busy no matter how pointless the task. He heard the creaking of the stairs leading to the bedrooms and figured Tony and Vance had finished speaking. A moment later, Vance appeared at the top of the basement stairs with two steaming coffee cups in his hands.

"Figured you could use another cup," the director said, making his way carefully into the basement with the hot beverages.

Gibbs accepted the cup with a nod of thanks.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

Vance took a long sip of coffee before replying.

"I tell you, Gibbs, I worked counter-intelligence for a long time - got to be pretty good at reading people – but I'll be damned if I know what's going on in DiNozzo's head."

A tiny smile quirked Gibbs' mouth before he could reel it back it – Tony's ability to mask his thoughts and real emotions may be a huge asset in undercover work and dealing with suspects but it was tremendously infuriating when trying to get a handle on what was eating him.

Vance looked around for somewhere to sit.

"Mind if I pull up a…saw-horse?"

"Be my guest," Gibbs replied, dragging another one over for himself. "He hear you out?"

"Were you worried he wouldn't?"

Gibbs shrugged but offered no further reply.

"He sat and listened to the whole thing – was so quiet and attentive I had to keep reminding myself this was really DiNozzo," Vance quipped. "I reassured him that NCIS would cover his medical costs and the cost of his rehab plus pay his full wages until he could return to work."

Gibbs watched as the director walked to the corner of the basement where Gibbs had hung a heavy bag and a speedball. He worked the speedball with the technique of a former boxer before turning back to Gibbs.

"Speedball's good stress relief," he commented.

"Doesn't beat a boat," Gibbs replied as Vance resumed his seat on the saw-horse.

"I told him we've had people from OS & H researching all kinds of assisted technology to help him adapt to the work environment," Vance said. "There's software that enables someone with either low vision or who is blind to use the computer without the keyboard through voice commands. It would take a little getting used to but he'd manage."

"And the job options?"

"We discussed the options of MTAC tech, Sound tech or Foreign Analyst."

"He show any interest?"

Vance cleared his throat and adjusted his tie.

"He said, if he can't return to his current position, he won't return to NCIS."

"Dammit, DiNozzo!" Gibbs cursed softly.

"I told him there was no need to make a decision now, he should take his time and consider all his options but it seemed like his mind was already made up." Vance said. "He has offered his verbal resignation."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Protective custody or not, being holed up in his house - unable to assist Tony and unable to assist with the investigation - was driving Gibbs around the twist. He was, for all intents and purposes, a man of action and all this inaction was making him crazy!

He needed to go back to Tony's apartment, collect the mail, leave a check for Tony's cleaning lady and collect the bottle of meds they'd forgotten in their rushed departure after the shooting.

Agents Kendall and Harris were left to watch the house and check on Tony, while Vance offered Gibbs a lift back to the Navy yard to check the progress of the investigation. He could catch a ride to Tony's apartment with McGee afterwards.

Lying on his bed, still staring sightlessly at the ceiling, Tony grunted his acknowledgement when Gibbs told him he'd be back in a few hours.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

"What do you got, McGee?" Gibbs said striding into the bullpen and suppressing a grin as the younger man startled at the unexpected arrival and spilled his coffee.

"Boss!" McGee said, fussing around looking for something to mop up the spill. "What are you doing here?"

"At the moment, McGee, I'm watching you spill coffee all over my desk. Clean that up and tell me you got something."

"Er…yes, Boss," McGee said, mopping madly with a serviette. "There's not a lot to tell actually. Turner has not used his accounts since the morning he beat his wife and left home. Abby confirmed that the bullet was fired from an M16 and ATF records indicate that Turner is a registered owner of a M16."

"You search his house?"

"Keating and I obtained a warrant and searched the Turner home – no sign of the rifle, he must have it with him."

"What about the search for the truck?"

"No hits on the BOLO and Keating and I are still compiling a list from the high performance exhaust companies in the area and cross-checking the owners of dark blue Ford F-150's with side exhausts with yours and Tony's lists. It's really slow going."

"And the son?"

"Former Seaman Allan Turner's just started his sentence at the Federal Correctional Institution in Fairton, Philadelphia. I've spoken to the Superintendent at Fairton and Keating and I are driving up to speak with Turner first thing in the morning. Hopefully, he can give us something to help us locate his father."

"Keating, stay on it, McGee you're with me," Gibbs said heading for the elevator.

Keating was seated at McGee's desk and looked up to find him hovering over him.

"Er…stay on it Keating," he repeated before leaning forward and whispering menacingly. "And don't even think about changing the codes on my computer again."

"Right, Boss," Keating replied as McGee hurried after Gibbs, turning sideways to slip into the elevator between the closing doors.

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"Need you to drive me to Tony's apartment and then home afterwards," Gibbs said. "I want to check on Abby first."

"Sure, Boss. Mind if I ask how you got here? I told Kendall and Harris to stay with you and Tony at all times," McGee asked crossly.

"Down boy," Gibbs replied. "The director gave me a lift. Kendall and Harris are still at the house with Tony."

The elevator deposited them on the level of the forensics lab and they entered the unusually subdued laboratory. Hearing voices from the inner offices they continued through the sliding glass doors and found Ducky, Palmer and Abby gathered around Abby's desk.

"Someone call a stop work meeting?" he asked.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!" Abby called excitedly as she rounded the desk and enveloped him in a crushing hug.

"Abs, I saw you last night at Tony's."

"I know but I've missed you and I've been so worried!"

"If I might ask the question," Ducky said. "Where is Anthony?"

"At my house," he replied, halting Abby's question by placing his index finger to her lips. "Kendall and Harris are there."

"How is he, Gibbs?" Abby asked, anxiously, "and don't tell me he's okay, cos I know he's not."

"He's not okay, Abs," Gibbs replied as Abby began to pace.

"I saw his face last night, he was upset, I know he was. I know Tony and I know how he totally hides when he's upset but I saw the look in his eyes. No matter what you say, I know I'm right about this, Gibbs."

"You're right, Abs."

"We did something we shouldn't have, didn't we? Or…or, like, maybe we didn't do something we should have done," she reasoned, her hands waving about to emphasise her words. "But whatever it was that we did or we didn't do - we upset Tony. We need to find out was it was, Gibbs, we need to fix this and tell him that we're sorry."

"That's what we were discussing when you arrived, Jethro," Ducky explained.

"It was the gifts," Gibbs said quietly.

"What?" Abby asked.

"The gifts…the computer game for the blind, the locator, the grocery list organiser …"

Abby gasped. "Even the…?"

"Even the colour identification device," Gibbs confirmed, watching the Goth scientist chew at her bottom lip and her large green eyes fill with unshed tears.

"Oh dear," Ducky said sadly.

"I don't understand," she said in a tremulous voice. "We wanted to help him, Gibbs. He said he wanted to be independent and we thought those gifts would help him whether his sight returned tomorrow or next week or…"

"Abs?"

"He thinks we've given up hope, doesn't he?" McGee asked.

"Oh my God, oh my God…Tony thinks we've all just accepted that he will be blind forever!" Abby said, allowing the tears to trickle down her pale cheeks. "Gibbs, that's, like, so not true…we all had other presents!"

"That's true, Agent Gibbs," Jimmy said. "Doctor Mallard bought Tony tickets to a Nats and Phillies game and Abby bought him some DVD's and McGee had an new X-Box game but they thought those gifts would make him feel worse about being blind."

"How do we fix this, Gibbs? How can we make this better?"

"Just give him time, Abs," he said to himself as much as to Abby. "He'll bounce back."

He didn't know how he was going to do it, but even if Gibbs had to drag him, kicking and screaming all the way, he was determined the younger man would bounce back.

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McGee waited in the living room of Tony's apartment as Gibbs walked around, removing perishables from the fridge and cupboards, packing another bag with additional clothes, leaving a check for Tony's cleaner, collecting the mail and pocketing the meds left behind in the rush.

"Boss, if you want, I can hook up your stereo in your guest room and Tony could listen to his music…er…that is…you do have a stereo, don't you?" McGee asked, memories of a dusty, prehistoric computer and printer kept in the basement, flashed through his mind.

"Well, yeah, McGee!" Gibbs said with a hint of annoyance. "Everyone has a stereo."

"It's not one of those with a big brass horn and a wind-up handle, is it?" McGee's head dipped involuntarily forward as Gibbs head slapped him. "Sorry, Boss, must be something in the air here at Tony's that made me say that."

"Grab a few CD's," Gibbs said as he did one more check of the apartment.

They arrived back at Gibbs' home and parked the car in the drive. Much to Gibbs' extreme irritation, Agent Kendall and McGee shielded him with their own bodies as they walked quickly into the house and were met by Agent Harris.

"Everything all right?" Gibbs asked.

"Everything's quiet," Harris replied.

"DiNozzo?"

"I haven't seen him for a few hours. We had a cup of coffee and he complained of a headache. Said he was gonna lay down for a while so I went back outside and left him to it."

Gibbs nodded and took the bag up to the guest room that was shrouded in darkness, an ominous silence and an empty bed. Gibbs felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he checked the bathroom and the other upstairs rooms and found no sign of Tony.

"DiNozzo's not in his room. Kendall and Harris spread out, check outside, keep your eyes peeled," he said, descending the stairs rapidly. "McGee, check down here, I'll check the basement."

His heart pounded painfully on his sternum as he burst on to the landing at the top of the basement stairs and flicked on the light. The sight of his senior field agent lying unmoving at the bottom of the stairs stole the air from his lungs and for a chilling moment he was unable to do anything but stare in horror. His training kicked in seconds later, forcing trembling legs to carry him down the stairs to his agent's prone body.

"McGee, 911!" he called, reaching a shaking hand under Tony's jaw to check for a pulse.

It was then he caught the overpowering stench of alcohol saw the empty bottle of bourbon still held between lax fingers. Gibbs sat back on his haunches, wincing at the protest of his knee until a rush of anger infused him and drove away his fears.

"Damn you, DiNozzo!" he yelled.

McGee hastily ran down the steps and stopped at the lead agent's side.

"Ambulance is on the way, Boss, how is he…is that bourbon?"

"Damn right it's bourbon," Gibbs said angrily.

Leaning down to better appraise his agent for injuries, he was relieved there were no bruises, scrapes, blood or broken bones in evidence.

"Help me turn him," Gibbs said.

As gently as they could, they rolled him onto his back, noticing for the first time the swelling and bruising on both hands.

"Told you a million times not to work the bag without gloves, DiNozzo," Gibbs said quietly as he tapped the younger man's cheek repeatedly.

Tony's brow furrowed deeply and his hands flew up to bat away the annoyance but his uncoordinated movements only succeeded in punching himself in the eye.

McGee grabbed his wrists and pinned them to his chest.

"Hold still, Tony," he said. "Keep that up and you'll give yourself a shiner."

Tony moaned and muttered incoherently.

"Tony? Did you fall?" McGee asked. "You may be seriously hurt. We need to know whether you hit your head or fell down the stairs?"

In the midst of another stream of incoherent ramblings and curses, they distinctly heard the words 'didn't fall.'

McGee sat back in relief. "Thank God," he said looking back up the stairs. "If he'd have fallen from there he could have killed himself."

"Now the pleasure's all mine." Gibbs said ominously.

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	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Sixteen**

It took every ounce of Gibbs' restraint not to kick his agent's inebriated ass into the middle of next week. What the _hell_ was he thinking?

Several minutes later, they had managed to get him into a semi-sitting, semi-slouching position against the wall and had determined that, apart from bruised and skinned knuckles, the soberly challenged man was not injured.

Needing a few moments to rid his mind of acts of violence against his second in charge, Gibbs went upstairs to cancel the ambulance and call Ducky.

"Duck?"

"Good evening, Jethro!" the ME replied cordially. "I trust young Timothy delivered you safely home?"

"Not soon enough," Gibbs muttered.

"I'm afraid you've lost me there, my friend, is everything alright?"

"Duck, do you have a list of DiNozzo's meds?"

"Yes, yes I believe I did jot them down somewhere. Surely you don't need a prescription refilled already?"

"Nothing like that. I need to know what kind of effect alcohol would have with them."

"Well, as a rule, alcohol and prescribed medication should never be mixed, however, if Anthony wishes to partake in a little of the amber fluid with his dinner, I can't see that one small beer would harm him. Just one, mind."

"What about half a bottle of bourbon?"

"That would be very foolhardy indeed…I can't believe you would even consider allowing Anthony to consume that much alcohol – with or without the prescribed medication!"

"Forgot to lock the liquor cabinet, Duck."

"You mean he…that Anthony…that he's…"

"Hammered," Gibbs said. "Found him passed out in the basement."

"Oh my, is he conscious? Can he speak to you?"

"McGee's trying to get some sense out of him now."

"Well, if Anthony took his medication on time, it has been several hours since his last dose but I shouldn't give him the evening meds if I were you."

"Understood."

"It would probably be best for all concerned if you gave him something to induce vomiting."

"You ever seen DiNozzo drink bourbon, Duck? He's likely to take care of the vomiting part all by himself."

"Oh dear, what a crying shame!"

"And a waste of good bourbon."

"Have him drink lots of water, he'll more than likely be dehydrated and get him into bed to sleep it off as soon as you can," Ducky said. "If you're worried about him, give me a call and I'll come right over."

"Thanks, Duck."

"Oh and Jethro? Go easy on the lad."

"I intend to, Duck, right after I kill him."

He heard the sounds of movement and muffled laughter coming from the basement and took a moment to gather his thoughts as Steve Myles' earlier words replayed in his mind.

'_What's he really passionate about? You need to find that, Agent Gibbs, something that will break through his desolation and give him the push he needs to move forward.'_

He'd seen something - walking around Tony's apartment earlier, Gibbs knew he'd seen something that could help get his agent back on track. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was.

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"Okay, Tony, let's try this again, alright?" McGee said with exaggerated patience. "I'm gonna help you to your feet and _this time_ you're gonna wanna lock your knees or you're gonna fall on your ass again, okay? Then, I need you to put your arm around my shoulders and we're gonna walk up the stairs. Got it?"

"Umm…no…I think...I think I missed…missed something, Probie," Tony slurred.

McGee rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently.

"That's okay, I'll repeat it again, what part did you miss?"

"The part after…okay Tony," he said, dissolving into fits of laughter. "Come on, Probie, that's a Maxwell Smart classic. Where's you hence of sumour?"

"My _hence of sumour_ disappeared the first five times I tried to get you on your feet," McGee replied. "You're not exactly a lightweight you know. Now, come on…on three…"

He managed to finally get Tony vertical, only to have him sway dangerously and almost pitch both of them to the floor.

"Hey!" McGee scolded. "Stop swaying!"

"That's me? Sorry man, I thought…I thought that was you!"

McGee gagged and flinched away from Tony's bourbon breath.

"S'matter?" Tony asked.

"Stop breathing on me!" McGee protested. "Your bourbon breath could clear a chat room!"

Tony's face instantly took on a wounded expression. "That hurt, McGee."

"Okay, now I need you to pay attention – this is very important. We're gonna walk to the stairs and slowly climb up each step one at a time."

"Oh, I don't know, man, those stairs are really steep and…and I can't see. What if…what if I fall or something?"

"You won't fall, I've got you," McGee encouraged. "I need you to trust me, Tony, can you do that?"

"I can do that, Probie, you know why I can do that?" Tony asked without waiting for a reply. "Cos when it comes to people I trust, your close to the tippity-top of my list."

McGee stood stock-still, surprised and touched by his senior field agent's admission.

"Tony, I…thanks - I'm really flattered," he said sincerely.

"Don't be – it's a short list," Tony said, bursting into side splitting laughter again.

McGee struggled to hold his partner upright and groaned as the stairs loomed over them ominously.

"Dammit, Tony! You really need to stop laughing now - this could be very dangerous. If we're ever gonna get out of the basement _you have to listen to me!"_

"I always listen to you, McGoo," Tony said, nodding his head emphatically and almost losing his balance.

"Really? When have you _ever_ listened to me?" McGee challenged.

"I always listen to you. You may not know this but I'm your best listener. I may not understand a single word you say…but I _always_ listen."

"Okay…are you ready to go?"

"Where? Sorry, Probie, I wasn't listening."

More howls of laughter burst forth from Tony as Gibbs arrived at the top of the stairs. A small grin softened the former Marine's features as he enjoyed a sound he hadn't heard for far too long.

He watched his two agents take three precarious steps toward the staircase before Tony lost all colour from an already pale face.

"Um…Probie…don't feel s'good," he muttered.

McGee eyed him warily. "Should I be worried?"

"What shoes you wearing?"

"Testonis."

"Be worried, McGoo," Tony said with a nod, swallowing convulsively.

"Ah…um…wait, Tony, hold on okay? Give me a sec."

Gibbs quickly walked down the stairs, past the two agents and reached under the workbench for a bucket. He backed his senior field agent up until he was sitting on the bottom steps and placed the bucket in Tony's hands as his stomach started to rid itself of the excessive alcohol.

McGee and Gibbs both turned away while Tony retched continuously for the next few minutes. By the time they'd turned back, Tony and the bucket were listing dangerously.

"Whoa!" Oh no you don't," McGee said, quickly stepping forward and grabbing an arm. "It took me long enough to get you on your feet last time."

He grimaced, took the bucket and placed on the ground behind them as Tony started to list again. McGee took one arm and Gibbs the other and they hauled him to his feet, each stepping closer to prevent Tony from becoming too disoriented. They placed his arms around their shoulders and each wrapped their own arm around his waist to support him.

"You got him?" Gibbs asked.

"Got who?" Tony mumbled.

"Yeah, Boss, I got him," McGee said, rolling his eyes at Tony's confusion.

It took several seconds for Tony to realise he needed to lock his knees and they turned and stopped at the bottom of the staircase.

"Listen up, DiNozzo, we're going up the stairs," Gibbs said. "Let me and McGee do the work – we gotcha."

The senior field agent nodded his head sullenly all signs of the jovial drunk had disappeared into the bucket when his stomach purged itself of the alcohol.

Tony stumbled and staggered several times but Gibbs and McGee managed to safely negotiate the narrow staircase – all three exhausted by the time they'd reached the living room and eased their burden onto the couch. Tony wished that the world would stop spinning - it was like the ground surged up and then dropped out from under him, throwing his equilibrium off more than usual.

"Boss, should I make some coffee?" McGee asked.

"For us - he gets water, Ducky's worried about dehydration."

"Ducky's dehydrated?" Tony asked worriedly, lifting his head from the back of the couch and attempting to sit forward.

"Lean back," Gibbs replied, concerned the younger man would fall flat on his face.

He placed the heel of his hand on Tony's forehead and gently pushed him back into the cushions. Tony's hands gripped the cushions on either side of him as the room spun and tilted perilously.

Moments later, McGee re-entered the living room and handed Gibbs a cup of coffee. He placed a large glass of water on the coffee table when he saw that Tony had nodded off and was snoring softly.

Gibbs sighed and reached for the younger man's shoulder.

"Hey, DiNozzo! Wake up!"

Tony blinked his sightless green eyes owlishly. "Wasn't sleeping."

"You need to drink this, Tony," McGee said, taking Tony's hand and wrapping his fingers around the glass.

Tony wrinkled his nose in irritation. "Not thirsty," he said.

"Empty bottle of bourbon says otherwise. Drink!" Gibbs growled. "All of it."

The alcohol forced its way through Tony's defences, causing his moods to swing like a pendulum as he fought to curb his wildly fluctuating emotions. Huffing impatiently, he drank the water down in three large gulps and then, feeling with his outstretched hands, placed the glass firmly back on the coffee table in a display of righteous indignation.

"M gonna hit the rack," he slurred.

As he attempted to get to his feet he found, to his embarrassment, that his trembling limbs weren't ready to cooperate. He swayed alarmingly, causing McGee and Gibbs to make a grab for him. Ruthlessly shrugging off their assistance, the world dipped wildly and Tony fell on his ass with a jaw-snapping thud. McGee moved forward to assist but was halted by Gibbs' arm on his bicep and a shake of the head.

"You done?" Gibbs said laconically.

A groan of frustration and contempt burst from Tony and the muscles along his jaw line contracted while he continued to bite down on his anger and humiliation. He attempted to get up again but the combination of excessive alcohol, an ever-tilting room and trembling legs conspired against him and set him on his ass a second time.

"Well?" he yelled in Gibbs' general direction.

"Well what?" the former Marine asked, his calm voice belying his anger.

"If you're waiting for an apology, Boss, then you shouldn't have shoved your rules down my throat for the past nine years! Never apologise, remember?"

"Nope, not waiting for an apology – I'm waiting for the absence of witnesses so I can kick your stubborn ass," Gibbs said.

Nodding to McGee, the two men crossed the room to help him up. Once again, they each took an arm and hauled him to his feet, steadying him before placing his arms around their shoulders. They moved across to the staircase leading to the bedrooms and slowly made their way to the guest bathroom. Waiting outside as Tony attended to business, McGee knocked on the door.

"Don't forget to brush your teeth, Tony, your bourbon breath would make a TicTac cry."

He cringed at the venom in the curse that came back through the closed door.

"I think I preferred the happy drunk," McGee muttered before receiving another head slap from Gibbs.

"He's not pissed enough for ya, McGee, _really?"_

"Sorry, Boss," McGee said.

The bathroom door flew open and the hardened expression on Tony's face left no doubt that his demeanour hadn't improved. Turning to his left, the icy glare and snarl meant for McGee would have sent shivers down the young agent's spine if he hadn't actually been standing on the other side of the doorway with Gibbs - but he got the gist nonetheless.

"I got this, McGee, go home, get some rest," Gibbs said, watching Tony feel his way across the hall into the guest room.

"Sure, Boss, I'll call you tomorrow," McGee replied. "Night, Tony."

McGee accepted the unintelligible grumbling as Tony's gracious farewell and went outside to brief the agents who had just arrived to relieve Kendall and Harris - that done, he went home.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs stood in the doorway, watching as Tony's uncoordinated fingers failed in their repeated attempts to undo the buttons on his shirt. The younger man sighed audibly and raked his fingers through his hair, growing visibly more frustrated by the minute. The combination of excessive alcohol and residual meds was making itself known and the young man looked out on his feet.

Despite his anger over DiNozzo's attempt to drink himself into oblivion, Gibbs couldn't continue to watch the younger man's struggle. He took three long strides into the room and attempted to unbutton the shirt, only to have Tony push his hands away.

"Shut up and keep still," Gibbs said in a voice far gentler than his words.

"I can do it," he growled, brushing Gibbs' hands away again and shrugging from his grasp.

"Then do it," Gibbs said, stepping away.

Tony tried again but the buttons were too small and his long fingers too uncoordinated to meet the challenge. Frustrated at his failure to accomplish such a trivial task, he tried to toe off his shoes, lost his balance and fell onto the bed. Deciding it was all too hard; he laid back and turned his face into the pillow, fully clothed.

"Close enough," Gibbs said, waiting the few minutes it took for Tony's breathing to even out and sleep to take him.

Expelling a long calming breath, Gibbs reached down and slipped DiNozzo's runners off his feet, placing them by the wardrobe where Tony wouldn't trip over them. He opened the top of the wardrobe, shifted the cardboard box full of stored items and pulled a light comforter down, covering the slumbering man. He went down to the kitchen, intending to get a small bottle of water and two Tylenol for Tony's bedside table, when the recollection hit him like a ton of bricks.

He took the stairs two at a time and ran back into the guest room. Noting Tony hadn't moved, he placed the water and the Tylenol within the younger man's reach and re-opened the top of the wardrobe. He reached for the cardboard box, placed it on the small desk in the corner of the room and looked at the tarnished and dusty trophies contained within – athletics, football and baseball trophies from Stillwater High and shooting range and football trophies from the USMC.

Several hours ago, at Tony's apartment, he had opened the wardrobe to pack an extra bag for his agent. He had seen several boxes of trophies from the younger man's school, college and police academy days. Sport was Tony's passion, he was a college athlete with a degree in Phys Ed who ran every morning, still played football with his buddies and played basketball in the local LEO's competition. Tony spent much of his personal time playing or watching sport when the team was off rotation.

He looked back at his deeply sleeping agent and sighed with relief; this could be the opportunity he'd been looking for. From this moment on he refused to cut the young man any slack - he was going to pull Tony back into life, even if he had to drag him kicking and screaming all the way. His heart pounded frantically against his sternum as he packed the box away, flicked off the light and hastily made his way downstairs to make some calls.

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"_DiNozzo! Up and at 'em!" _

Gibbs' barked order resonated through the guest room and reverberated painfully within Tony's skull as he sat bolt upright in bed and gasped loudly. Blinking owlishly and with one of the most frightening cases of bed hair Gibbs had ever seen, the younger man's body swayed dangerously close to the edge of the bed.

"Wha…what?" Tony stammered, his brain struggling to engage.

"Clean clothes on the foot on your bed and fresh towels in the bathroom. You've got 10 minutes to shower and haul your ass downstairs."

"Go to hell," Tony groaned, barely recognising the gravelled rasp of his own voice as he rolled over and pushed his face into the pillow.

The comforter was whisked away and the pillow disappeared from under his head.

"Nine minutes – get up!"

The pneumatic drill continued to hammer away at Tony's brain, ensuring that sleep was no longer an option.

"Go build a boat!" he growled, not even trying to be civil.

"No boat, no work – today you've got my full attention. Get up!"

"_What the hell, Gibbs?"_ he snapped.

"Eight minutes," the lead agent said calmly.

Unfazed by his agent's show of temper, Gibbs walked across the hall to the bathroom and started the shower.

"Water's running. Move."

"_Jesus, Gibbs, what is this? You pissed cos I drank you damn bourbon? If it meant that much to you, I'll buy you another bottle!"_

"Damn straight you will. Seven minutes."

Tony sat on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees, cradled his head in his hands and pleaded with it to stop throbbing. He was so tired of well-intentioned people telling him what to do. He breathed deeply, his stomach raw and uneasy and ready to defy him at any moment.

"Why are you doing this?" he sighed in resignation.

Gibbs' sigh was almost as long suffering as Tony's.

"Tried doing patient – that didn't work. Now we're doing things _my_ way."

Tony's lethargy vanished and was replaced by a burst of anger.

_"Your way?"_ he laughed contemptuously. _"I got news for you, Gibbs, this isn't about you…it's my life! I didn't ask for your freaking help!" _

The tenuous grip Gibbs had on his patience, slipped and - in one stride - he stepped into the younger man's personal space, took two fists full of his shirt and hauled him to his feet roughly.

"_You didn't have to ask!"_ he yelled angrily into Tony's startled face.

Swallowing his fury he released his grip on Tony's shirt and forced himself to take a few calming breaths. When he spoke again his voice was thick with barely restrained emotion.

"You. _Never_. Have. To. Ask."

The words were almost Tony's undoing as his despairing, unseeing eyes pleaded with Gibbs to help him find the strength he needed. The former Marine reached out and tapped his fingers gently against the younger man's cheek.

"Hit the shower and get dressed," Gibbs said, quietly but firmly. "Be downstairs in five."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Breakfast had been a subdued affair with Tony's ailing stomach managing only one piece of toast and a small bottle of water before he was bundled into the car by Gibbs, Kendall and Harris as they headed across town.

The drive took 20 minutes with Agents Kendall and Harris riding "up front" and Tony and Gibbs in the back. Gibbs silently assessed his agent's pallor that was offset by the dark smudges set deeply under his eyes and the additional, self-inflicted biliousness that added to the ex-detective's misery.

Tony had nodded off by the time they had arrived at their destination. Gibbs nudged the younger man awake and offered his guide arm as they climbed from the car. Kendall and Harris flanked them closely as they walked the short distance to the entrance of the building.

The large door opened and Gibbs and Tony entered, leaving Kendall and Harris to take up their positions outside, ensuring there were no "unwanted visitors." The echo of their footsteps resonated in the large open building and when he caught the faint odours of linament, rosin and artificial turf, Tony knew he was in an indoor sports centre.

"Boss?"

Before he had a chance to form the rest of his question a loud voice bellowed from the other side of the building.

"That you, Gunny?"

"It's me, Sarge," Gibbs replied, guiding Tony across the synthetic artificial grass on the playing field.

The two former Marines greeted each other with a cordial handshake. "Slammin' Sam" Robinson was a tall, African American with sharp, lively eyes and a quick smile who looked as fit in his 50's as he did when he fought with Gibbs in the Persian Gulf. He owned and ran the popular in door sports complex.

"Thanks for helping out today, Sam," Gibbs said.

"No problem, Jethro, this is usually our day off, so you have the whole place to yourself," Sam replied, glancing at the younger man by Gibbs' side. "This must be Tony."

Gibbs introduced the men, noting his agent still appeared subdued and hesitant. Normally anyone from Gibbs' past was subjected to multiple rapid-fire questions as Tony attempted to glean any and all information about his boss' history.

"You get the gear?" Gibbs asked.

"All set up and waiting. You wanna get started?" Sam said, handing Gibbs a set of keys. "Stay as long as you like, Gunny, just lock up when you leave."

"Appreciate it, Sam."

"Nice to meet ya, young fella," Sam said to Tony. "Go easy on the Gunny, he ain't as young as he used to be, ya know!"

Gibbs waited until his old friend had cleared the playing field before turning back to Tony.

"Let's do it," he said.

He led Tony further across the playing field until the younger man dug his heels in and pulled back fiercely.

"You want me to cooperate, Boss, you better tell me what the hell we're doing here."

Gibbs shoved a baseball bat into Tony's hands.

"Batting practice," he responded.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," Gibbs replied, placing a helmet on Tony's head and knocking his fist on it twice. "Batter up, DiNozzo."

Tony's jaw hung slightly open and his face was a picture of confusion.

"You want me to play baseball?" Tony asked stupefied.

"Got a problem with that?"

"You mean…apart from the fact that I can't freakin' see?"

"We've been to batting cages a hundred times," Gibbs said. "This'll be a hundred and one."

"_What's the freakin' point, I can't see the damn ball!"_ Tony snapped.

"It's not about seeing, Tony, it's about timing and the consistency of your swing."

The former Marine went on to explain that he would call 'ready' and then 'pitch' as he released the ball from a distance of 20 feet and attempted to place the ball on DiNozzo's bat. Each pitch would be the same speed and the height of Tony's swinging bat.

"No point me pitching balls you can't hit, I'll be pitching ones you can," Gibbs said. "You hear me call 'pitch,' you allow a split second to pass before you swing. You can do this, DiNozzo."

After the first two-dozen pitches, Gibbs was beginning to think he'd made a bad decision. Tony hadn't connected once and was frustrated, embarrassed and angry. Twice he'd thrown the bat away in disgust only to have Gibbs thrust it back into his reluctant hands.

"You're the college jock, DiNozzo, show me what you've got!" he goaded, hoping to ignite the younger man's renowned competitive spirit.

_"I can't do it!" _Tony snarled.

"Whew! Feel that breeze!" Gibbs said, after a huge air swing landed Tony on his butt. "I've seen better swings on a porch, DiNozzo!"

_"This is stupid!" _Tony growled, unaware of Gibbs' proud grin as he watched him dust himself off and take up his stance once again.

Another pitch, another mighty swing and another huge miss had Tony cursing and swearing at the futility of it all - but he faced up again.

"Come on, Dracula, wake up your bat!" Gibbs needled. "You couldn't drive home Miss Daisy!"

Then came the words that were music to Gibbs' ears as the first sign of the infamous DiNozzo self-confidence revealed itself.

"Keep serving 'em up, Boss, cos soon you'll be chucking and ducking."

The very next pitch caught the top edge of the bat and travelled 30 feet in the air. Even though it was a miss-hit, Tony was thrilled to get some bat on it.

"Better watch out, I got the range now!"

"That so?" Gibbs replied, grinning with satisfaction.

With his confidence growing by the minute Tony started consistently making good contact with the ball and soon the DiNozzo mega-watt grin and healthy ego started pushing their way to the fore.

A good hit, straight down the base line, felt great off the bat and prompted Tony to give a little attitude back to the lead agent.

"Come on, Boss, Yoko Ono's got better pitch control than you!"

Soon it all came together, the stance, the swing and the follow through and Tony was hitting far more than he missed.

"Hope you're wearing your Kevlar, Gibbs, cause the next one's coming at ya like a bullet," he announced, just before a cracking drive almost cut Gibbs in two.

An hour later they called a halt to practice as a thoroughly exhausted but charged senior field agent sat down in the batting cage and leaned against the chain-link fence.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked, sitting down beside him and passing him a bottle of water.

"I'm good," Tony said quietly. "Just didn't realise how much I was gonna miss this."

"Don't have to miss it, there's a Beep Baseball team looking for a few extra players."

"Beep Baseball?" Tony asked.

"Team of blind or low vision players with a sighted pitcher and catcher. The ball makes sound so the fielders can locate it," Gibbs said. "There's only two bases – first and third – both are four-feet high and buzz loudly so the runner can locate them. Make no mistake these guys play hard and play to win. What do ya think?"

"I dunno, Boss," Tony said his confidence waning suddenly.

"You're a good athlete, Tony, you'd be an asset to a team," the lead agent said. "What if I said I'd join with ya?"

"You'd do that?" Tony said in surprise. "You'd join a team with me?"

"Team's looking for a pitcher and now the boat's gone, I'm looking for a hobby," he replied. "Team always needs sighted players, you can keep playing when your sight returns."

Tony considered the question for a long moment. "I'll think about it?" he said around a yawn.

Gibbs stood up, groaning inwardly at the sound of his popping knee and he pulling the younger man to his feet. His pallor and the dark smudges were still strikingly evident but Gibbs was pleased to see a small spark of life in the sightless green eyes.

"You did good today," Gibbs said earnestly. "Temporary or permanent, life without sight – is still life."

"I know," the younger man replied quietly.

"Oh, and DiNozzo – you touch my bourbon again, I'll break your damn fingers."

Tony's roguish grin appeared on his handsome face. "I gotcha, Boss."

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A/N Until I began writing this story, I knew nothing about Beep Baseball, so my decision to have Tony and Gibbs join a Beep Baseball team is, in a small way, a measure of my newfound admiration for the courage and tenacity of these sightless athletes.

(Those of you who are interested can check it out on You Tube.)

Many countries around the world now have a National Beep Baseball Association. Blind athletes dive onto the ground to stop a beeping ball and run at full speed for 100 feet toward the sound of a buzzing base to score a run. (I defy you to close your eyes and try that some time, scary stuff!)

They have desire, determination, team work and, most importantly, these sightless players have fun in the midst of extreme competition. There is also the occasional injury. Beep baseball is not a game for those who are concerned about a scraped elbow. Safety precautions are high priorities, but due to the nature of the game, some injuries do occur. Players know this and fully accept the injury risks for the sake of playing a sport they love. I'm in awe of their tenacity, so please forgive this little spiel.

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	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Seventeen**

Abby sat on a stool at her workbench, her pigtails swinging wildly as her head swivelled from left to right, keeping pace with McGee's frantic pacing.

His brow was creased in frustration as he chugged back the remains of his coffee. Crushing the Styrofoam cup in his hand, he threw it across the room to make a very impressive rebound shot off the wall into the trashcan and causing Abby's eyebrows to disappear into her hairline.

"Something's not right, Abs!" McGee said, not missing a step.

"I know, Timmy," Abby replied. "Without all that caffeine you've been drinking lately, you would have _never_ made that shot!"

"I'm serious, Abs!" he growled. "This isn't funny! Gibbs and Tony are counting on me to come up with a lead and at the moment, I've got squat!"

"Sheesh, hanging around Federal prisons makes you mean and cranky," Abby replied.

"I'm sorry, Abs," he said ruefully.

"Don't be," Abby smiled wickedly. "I _like_ mean and cranky! But if you're going for a new image, you _totally_ have to get down and get dirty. You know, a few neck and knuckle tats, mess up the hair, maybe a little scar through one eyebrow, grow a little stubble…_"_

"I tried the stubble, remember? Tony told me it felt like a bunny rabbit and Gibbs gave me shaving cream."

"Hmm," Abby said, stroking her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe they're right, it's just not you. It's kind of like casting Zac Efron to play Charles Manson."

"Thanks…I think," McGee said, not knowing whether to be offended. "I spent all morning with Seaman Turner at the FCI in Fairton, trying to get him to tell me _anything_ that would help us find his father. He gave me nothing!"

"Well, NCIS _is_ responsible for him, like, spending the next 25 years of his life wearing prison garb and dating some hairy, 300 pound dude named Bubba. Are you really surprised that he doesn't want to talk to us?"

"Gibbs would have got him to talk," McGee stated.

"Gibbs could get Marcel Marceau to talk."

"Tony would've pretended to be Turner's best friend - comparing stories about life on an aircraft carrier and talking about sports and cars until Turner told him what he wanted to know."

"Aw, someone needs a hug," Abby said, wrapping her arms around McGee and squeezing tightly.

"Thanks, Abs, but what I _really_ need is to find Harry Turner."

"Want some advice?"

"Sure."

"Go back to doing what you do best. No one finds a paper trail or an electronic signature like you, Timmy. Keep looking – you'll find it, I know you will."

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Gibbs allowed a slight grin as he recognised the familiar rumble of Ducky's Morgan as it pulled into the driveway. He should have known that, despite his assurances that Tony had survived imbibing half a bottle of bourbon; the doctor would arrive to inspect the damage for himself.

"Hello, Jethro," Ducky greeted cordially, juggling a cardboard tray with three coffee cups as Gibbs held the door open.

"Come on in, Duck."

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner. Agent Balboa's team had a double homicide and Mr Palmer and I had to work through the night."

Gibbs showed the ME into the living room and they took a seat on the couch. Ducky placed the steaming Styrofoam cups on the coffee table, checked his watch and looked around for one conspicuously absent senior field agent.

"I assume you've looked in on Anthony. It's past noon, is he still sleeping?"

"He's resting. Had a big morning."

"And a bigger evening if half a bottle of bourbon is anything to judge by," Ducky said, not bothering to hide the displeasure in his voice. "He can't go on like this, Jethro. Have you spoken to him about joining a support group?"

"We're his support group, Duck."

"What about the agency psychologist?" Ducky asked.

Gibbs shook his head.

Ducky clicked his tongue against his teeth to indicate his disapproval.

"Then _please_ tell me you spoke to him about the Blind Reorientation Centre?"

"Nope."

"Well what, pray tell, _did_ you speak to him about?"

"Baseball," Gibbs shrugged.

"_Baseball?_" Ducky repeated aghast. "Please tell me you're kidding. Whether you want to admit it or not, that young man needs specialised assistance. I know that Anthony is not one to ask for it but last night's overindulgence was a cry for help. Sometimes, Jethro, it's not about hearing with your ears, it's about hearing with your heart."

Gibbs took a long draught of coffee and recognised not only the annoyed expression on his old friend's face but the anxiety in his eyes. Ducky had known Tony for almost as long as Gibbs and had always had a very large soft spot for the younger man - he had no doubt that the doctor spoke out of genuine concern.

"Took him to play some baseball, Duck. He did good," Gibbs replied softly. "Saw the old DiNozzo – cocky, brash - was all I could do to stop from smacking him upside the head!"

"He actually played baseball?" the doctor asked.

"Yep! Put him in the batting cage, stuck a helmet on his head and a bat in his hand," Gibbs replied, his lips quirking slightly in a proud grin. "Took a while to get used to it but when he started driving 'em back at me…should've seen him."

"Jethro…you must believe me when I say that I am not trying to discourage you from involving Anthony in this activity. On the contrary, any activity like that is bound to provide him with confidence and a sense of achievement. But to deny the existence of the truth will not make it less true - he needs help with day to day activities _and _he needs to speak about what he's feeling."

"He's agreed to more sessions with the vision rehab therapist," Gibbs said.

"Well, I suppose that's something but it's not enough," Ducky sighed heavily. "Jethro, when this maniac is caught and you return to work, who will stay with Anthony? Who will ensure his safety and help him prepare his meals? He can't stay locked up in his apartment hoping that his sight returns."

"_Ya think I don't know that, Duck?" _Gibbs snapped at his old friend. "You may not think that baseball is important in the scheme of things, but I know DiNozzo. He's had a glimpse of what he can still achieve even without sight. He'll be more receptive to the other things. I hooked him, Duck, time for you to go reel him in."

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A soft knock at the door drew Tony from his musings as he lay resting on his bed. He heard the tiny rattle of the door handle being turned and the soft whoosh as the opening door brushed over the thick carpet.

"Am I disturbing you, Anthony?" Ducky said.

"Hey, Ducky," Tony replied, with a sleepy grin. "No, please come in."

He sat up on the edge of the bed and felt the mattress move as the ME took a seat next to him.

"How are you feeling, my boy? I hear the last 24 hours have been quite an adventure!"

"You know about the bourbon," Tony stated flatly.

"Honestly, Anthony, what on Earth were you hoping to achieve?" Ducky said gently chiding.

"I'd always heard the term 'blind drunk,'" Tony said impudently. " Maybe I was…"

"Anthony!" Ducky scolded, cutting Tony off mid-sentence. "This is not a laughing matter."

"Do you see me laughing, Doc?" Tony replied in a low, serious tone.

"No, my boy, I see a young man who feels his life has been turned into complete disarray - trying desperately to find an escape from the confusion and the fear."

"I think I know where this is going," Tony muttered.

"Director Vance told me that you have resigned from NCIS. I do wish you would reconsider or at least postpone your decision until it's absolutely necessary."

"Ducky, I appreciate what you and the director and everyone else is trying to do, but ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a cop. Then I met Gibbs and became an agent and despite the horrors that sometimes come with it, I _loved_ my job. If I can't be a field agent then I think it's best that I find something completely different to do with my life."

"How will you support yourself?"

"The director told me that, because I was injured on the job, I'm entitled to half pay permanently or until I can find something else. I can draw some money from my police pension and I have some money my mother left me in a trust account. I'll get by."

"You know, young man, you promised me that you would accompany me on a visit to the Blind Reorientation Centre."

"I know, Ducky, but I really don't think I need to go there. I've started seeing this vision rehab therapist who's teaching me all this really good stuff and this morning, Gibbs took me to the batting cages. It took me a while to get the hang of it but once I got the range I was hitting them like Babe."

"The pig?"

"That's funny, Ducky," Tony said with a smirk. "I know cricket's more your game but even you know who Babe Ruth was."

"Ah, yes, I seem to recall, hearing the name once or twice since arriving here in America," Ducky said teasingly.

"So, you see, Doc, I don't I need to go to the centre – Steve's teaching me the important stuff and Gibbs is teaching me the fun stuff - I'm fine!" he said wearing what he hoped was his brightest smile.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop suddenly.

"I have known you for many years, Anthony, and believe me when I tell you that I have had it up to here with you!" Ducky said angrily.

"Ducky?"

"Don't Ducky me, don't paste on a smile and tell me you're fine! Don't set your shoulders and pretend you can deal with this by yourself. You can't do this alone Anthony! _You are blind!_ This is not something you can ignore and hope it goes away."

"_Don't you think I know that, Ducky! You think this is easy for me? My whole life changed in an instant and I don't know what to do. I'm afraid Ducky, is that what you wanted me to say? Does hearing me say it make you feel better?"_ Tony challenged.

Ducky waited a moment, listening to the sound of Tony's ragged breathing before he softly replied.

"My fervent hope, dear boy, is that saying it would make _you_ feel better. It takes much more energy to suppress your emotions than to release them, Anthony," Ducky said, placing a gentle hand across Tony's back. "You already did the hardest part, you survived the explosion – now please_, please_ let your friends help you."

He wrapped an arm gently around Tony's shoulders and pulled him into a comforting one-arm hug, surprised when the younger man did not pull away but leant into it. There were no tears and no sobs but Ducky felt the fine tremors as the younger man battled fiercely with his self-control. The elderly ME closed his eyes and tightened his embrace, confident that he had just had his own breakthrough with this proudly independent young man of whom he was immensely fond.

"I'm right here by your side, Anthony…_please,_ let me help you," Ducky pleaded.

Slight movement from the doorway caught his attention and he looked to see Gibbs leaning quietly on the doorframe, his face implacable as ever, but his blue eyes softened as he watched Ducky provide the physical comfort. Despite their closeness, Gibbs knew that had never been a part of his relationship with Tony – it was never given, nor was it expected but the unique unspoken bond was none the weaker for it and Gibbs gave Ducky a small nod of approval before walking away.

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"Coffee?" Gibbs asked as Ducky entered the kitchen.

"Please," Ducky said, pulling out a chair and wearily falling into it as Gibbs fixed him a cup of coffee.

"He okay?"

"He's fine, Jethro, he'll join us as soon as he's dressed," Ducky said. "Despite the fact that I believe you have a rule about it, I owe you an apology, dear friend."

"Duck?"

"You were right…about the baseball I mean. Those few hours spent in the batting cage this morning gave Anthony a glimpse of what he could accomplish, regardless of whether his sight returns."

"He agreed to see a shrink?" Gibbs said in surprise.

"Not in so many words, however, he has agreed to visit the Blind Reorientation Centre with me and meet informally with their counsellor."

"Can't argue with that, Duck. That's a big step for him."

"Indeed it is," the doctor replied gratefully. "So, what's on the agenda for you gentlemen this afternoon?"

"I still have the keys to the indoor sports centre," Gibbs replied. "If he wants to, I thought we'd do a few fielding and base running drills."

"Anthony told me about this Beep Baseball. I must say I'd never heard of it before now. What a shame I have to return to work, otherwise I'd be delighted to come and offer Anthony some encouragement."

"If he takes to fielding and base running like he took to batting, believe me, Duck, he won't need any encouragement," Gibbs quipped.

"I heard that," Tony said walking into the kitchen.

"Taken to eavesdropping, DiNozzo?"

"Just honing my other senses, Boss," Tony grinned back. " We going back to the sports centre?"

"You up to it, DiNozzo?"

"I'm up to it, Boss."

"Good," Gibbs said. "Let me get authorisation to leave the house and we'll get moving."

Tony frowned. "You calling the director?"

"Worse," Gibbs growled in frustration. "I'm calling McGee."

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Tony completed his warm-up stretches while Gibbs set up the bases on the synthetic playing field. Beep Baseball has first and third bases only – no second base - rather than the familiar diamond shape of the sighted baseball game it was played on a triangular shape.

The bases were four-feet high padded cylinders with speakers and Gibbs placed them one hundred feet down their respective lines and ten feet off the foul line. The bases contain sounding units that give off a unique buzzing sound when activated.

"Hey, Boss, you sure that I'm allowed to run directly to first _or_ third, cos that seems a little weird."

"The base operator will activate the buzzer in either first or third base. You hit the ball; you wait until you hear the buzzer and you run like hell to the sound. Got it?"

"Got it," Tony said.

Gibbs placed home plate in the correct position and called Tony over. Although they weren't batting this afternoon, he wanted Tony to get used to standing closer to the front of the box with his lead foot even with the front of the plate. Tony flinched a little when Gibbs placed a blindfold over his eyes.

"If you're afraid I'm gonna peek, Boss, I give you my word, it ain't gonna happen," Tony quipped.

"Regulations, DiNozzo, some players are blind and some have low vision – everyone but the pitcher and the catcher wears a blindfold."

"Feels a little silly."

"If it's any consolation, it looks much worse," Gibbs replied dryly. "I'll call 'ready' and 'pitch,' then wait two seconds and activate one of the bases. You identify which one's buzzing and you haul ass. Might be an idea to walk the first couple, get a feel for it."

Tony nodded his readiness and Gibbs called and activated third base. Tony's head turned in the direction of the sound and he set off in that direction at a brisk walking pace. It wasn't the most direct route but he found the base.

"Again," Gibbs said, offering his guide arm to Tony and leading him back to home plate.

Gibbs called 'pitch' but this time activated first base, which had a distinctly different sound to third. Tony set off at a slow jog and quickly zeroed in on the large buzzing base.

"Good job," Gibbs said, leading Tony back to home plate again. They practiced over and over - each time, Tony gained in confidence and speed with Gibbs goading and encouraging him all the way.

"You call that running, DiNozzo?" Gibbs yelled in his best DI voice. "I've seen better legs in a barrel of fried chicken."

"You call that fast? Ducky can run faster than you!" Gibbs yelled.

"I always thought Ducky was very spry, Boss," Tony replied. "Besides, he can see where he's going."

Within 30 minutes Gibbs was shaking his head in admiration at the fearlessness and athleticism shown by the younger man who was running the one hundred foot distance to the bases, confidently at an impressive pace.

After a short break and a refreshing drink, Gibbs produced the bat and the beep ball and sent Tony into the field. Gibbs repeatedly bunted the ball in Tony's direction, watching the agent using only his hearing to locate the beeping ball. On several occasions he was required to make an energetic full-stretch dive to stop the ball from passing him and then hold the ball in the air to signify an 'out.'

Gibbs had Tony diving to his right and to his left and, more often then not, the ball was fielded by hitting some part of his body. Though his body would more than likely be black and blue in the morning, he never shied or complained about taking a hit and the smile on his face was all the evidence Gibbs needed to know the younger man was having the time of his life.

'_Attaboy, Tony,'_ Gibbs thought proudly.

When Gibbs called practice to a close, a dishevelled Tony stood before him, sweat soaking his hair and t-shirt.

"So…wanna give this Beep Baseball a try?" Gibbs asked. "I can have Sam call the coach, sign us up."

"You'd really do that, Boss, sign up and play with me?"

"Like I said, DiNozzo, I haven't got a boat and I need a hobby. Am I calling?"

Tony needed to clear his throat twice before he found his voice.

"You're calling, Boss," he said in a voice thick with emotion.

Gibbs clapped his hand on the younger man's back.

"Come on, crazy legs, let's go home!"

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Ziva stood in the open doorway of Ducky's office and cleared her throat, drawing the ME's attention from his paperwork.

"Ziva!" he greeted cordially.

"Good afternoon, Ducky, I hope I am not disturbing you."

"No, no, not at all, my dear. Any distraction from this interminable paperwork is a pleasant distraction, I always say. Please come in, take a seat."

"I cannot stay long," Ziva said. "I just came by to give you my return to work certificate."

"I was just about to have a nice spot of tea, I'd be delighted if you'd join me."

With a quick glance toward the open door, she reluctantly replied.

"Um…thank you, Ducky…I would like that very much."

Ziva listened patiently as Ducky prattled genially about the correct way to make a pot of tea, then placed a cup of the perfectly brewed beverage in front of her.

"Thank you," she said.

He allowed a moment for them to taste and savour the rich blend before he met her dark eyes.

"Tell me, my dear, how are you?"

"The doctors say I am ready to resume light duties," she replied, evading the real question. "The cast will remain for another four weeks."

"That is very good news indeed but I was not referring to your arm. Have you been to see Anthony since the accident."

"I tried to see him in the hospital but he was sleeping, I…I spoke to Gibbs."

Ducky sat back in his chair, gently tapping his fingertips together.

"I imagine that was not a pleasant conversation," Ducky said. "Our esteemed team leader has never been known for his tactful conversation skills, let alone when one of his people has been injured."

"Ducky…how is Tony?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.

"There has been no noticeable improvement to the swelling around his visual cortex."

"He is still blind."

"Yes, my dear, he is," Ducky said gently.

"So it is permanent?"

"The doctors have no way of knowing until the swelling reduces and they can determine the extent of the damage to the visual cortex and optic nerves."

"But it could be…permanent."

"Yes, there is still hope, of course, but it could be permanent," Ducky advised truthfully.

Ziva closed her eyes for a moment and when they re-opened the softness was gone, replaced by emptiness – a legacy of her Mossad training.

"Did you know that Anthony had resigned from NCIS?"

Ziva looked shaken.

"McGee told me the director had several job options for Tony," she stated. "He said NCIS was providing specialised equipment and support."

"That is true, the director has been very accommodating however Anthony told him that if he cannot return to his former position, he will not return at all."

"Why? Why would he do that?" she asked.

"I'm afraid that's a question you will need to ask Anthony. Go to him, my dear, speak to him and perhaps you will both find some solace."

"How can anything I feel compare to what he's going through!"

"While your own feelings of distress are very different to Anthony's; they are not necessarily less," Ducky replied. "At the very least, you have the ability to control your own situation - Anthony does not have that luxury. Don't you see my dear, as difficult as this has been for you, this is not about you; this is about Anthony. No matter how deeply you regret the circumstances that caused this situation, there is no going back."

Ducky looked, through sad eyes, at the young woman sitting in front of him. She was obviously heavily burdened by her role in Tony's accident and the enormous impact his injuries were having on his life and the lives of those who cared about him. He sighed wearily as he realised the reason for her hesitation.

This woman had been trained as a soldier from a very early age and, later, as an assassin. Raised in a deadly kill or be killed world, by necessity, she had closed herself off from feelings of regret, sorrow and personal responsibility – an effective assassin has no room in their lives for such emotions. During her time at NCIS, they had seen her slowly start to evolve but still the feelings were locked inside.

"The way I see it, you have two choices, my dear," Ducky said. "You can let these feelings of guilt and regret fester and eat away at you forever, or you can show the courage and the strength that we know you have and salvage the remains of your friendship with Anthony."

Thanking Ducky for the tea, Ziva rose to her feet and left the building, heading for Gibbs' home - and Tony.

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Gibbs and Tony were sitting down to an early dinner when McGee arrived and they called him into the dining area.

"Grab some coffee and sit down," Gibbs said around a forkful of vegetables. "You eaten?"

"It's my sister's birthday, we're going to dinner later," McGee said. "Won't say no to the coffee though."

Gibbs pointed toward the coffee machine with his chin and McGee poured himself a cup and joined them at the table.

"What've you got, McGee?"

"A lot of nothing I'm afraid, Boss," McGee said, the frustration clearly evident in his voice. "I drove up to Fairton this morning to see Seaman Turner. He clammed up tight, wouldn't tell me anything about his truck or his father."

"Not surprising," Tony said. "We did put him away for 25 years."

"What else?" Gibbs said.

"Still no hits on Harry Turner's accounts or on the BOLO on his truck. Wherever he is, he's lying low."

"What about the list of modified trucks from the high performance exhaust companies?"

"That's really slow going – so far we've cross checked about 150 names with yours and Tony's list of possible suspects but haven't had a match. We haven't even found the company that modified Turner's truck yet."

"Stay on it, Harry Turner only withdrew a thousand dollars. He has to come up for air sometime." Gibbs said.

McGee turned his head to face his senior field agent. "Hey, Tony, I hear you did good in the batting cage this morning," he said.

"You heard right, McFlyball, I was hitting 'em like Babe," Tony grinned.

"The pig?"

"Not the pig! Babe Ruth! Doesn't _anybody_ know who Babe Ruth was?"

"Sorry, Tony, he was before my time," McGee said.

"The man retired from the game in 1936, Probie, he was before _everyone's_ time…but his legend continues."

McGee was pleased to see the improvement in Tony's temperament and exchanged a quick grin with Gibbs.

"Hey!" Tony said suddenly. "Allan Turner was a Navy construction mechanic, right?"

"Yeah, so?" McGee answered slowly.

"Construction mechanics repair and maintain heavy automotive equipment like, buses, dump trucks and tactical vehicles. Maybe Turner did his own modifications. Maybe you're not looking for a high performance exhaust company but an auto parts shop."

"Makes sense," Gibbs said.

"There's gotta be thousands of auto parts shops in the tri-state area!" McGee groaned and then started as his PDA shrilled. He removed it from his jacket pocket, read the message and stood abruptly. "Boss, I gotta hit! Harry Turner just accessed his account at a liquor store in Fairfax, not far from the ATM where he withdrew money the day of the shooting."

Gibbs stood quickly and retrieved his weapon and ID from his gun safe.

"Who's outside?" he asked.

"Purcell and Brunner," McGee said.

"Tell 'em what's going on and to keep their eyes open."

"Boss, what are you doing?"

"You got back-up with ya, McGee?"

"Not…with me," he answered slowly. "I was gonna call in for back-up."

"I'm you're back-up, let's go!"

He stopped next to DiNozzo and placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"You need anything, you call Purcell or Brunner. They're right outside."

"I'm fine, Boss."

He gave Tony's shoulder a reassuring squeeze then headed for the car behind McGee, hoping that they could find Turner and end this tonight.

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	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Eighteen**

The NCIS sedan skidded to a halt outside the Fairfax liquor store where, 25 minutes before, Harry Turner had accessed his savings account. Gibbs and McGee rushed into the store, startling the rotund clerk with the ruddy complexion as he restocked a shelf near the front of the store.

Identifying themselves as federal agents, they showed the clerk a photo of Harry Turner and asked if he remembered seeing the man.

"Oh yeah, I know him," the clerk replied. "He was just here. He's been a regular customer for about a week."

"How long ago did he leave?" McGee asked.

"About 20 minutes, I'd say."

"Did you see what kind of vehicle he was driving?"

The clerk huffed out a laugh. "This guy wasn't driving, he was barely walking! He's been in every day like clockwork, buys a pint of gin and leaves. Usually pays cash but tonight he used his credit card. He was already drunk when he arrived tonight, staggering all over the place. I told him I wouldn't sell him any more alcohol and he grabbed me by the shirt and threatened to punch my lights out."

"Did you call the police?"

"Nah, that kind of thing happens from time to time," the clerk replied. "Look, I know all about the Responsible Service of Alcohol laws, but when the choice is sell the alcohol or get beaten up, I look after myself. I have the whole thing on CCTV if you don't believe me."

"We believe you. Did you see which way he went?" McGee asked.

The clerk grimaced in apology. "I'm just glad he went. I think he may have gone to the left but I can't be sure."

"Thanks," McGee said, handing his business card to the clerk. "Please call me if you remember anything else. Someone from our agency will call by later to collect the CCTV footage for the last week."

"Sure," the clerk said to McGee's retreating back. "Hey! What did he do?"

He huffed in exasperation as the agents left the store without providing an answer to his question.

"Twenty minutes and he's on foot – he couldn't have gone too far, Boss. How you wanna do this?"

"Clerk said he went left. Take the car, I'll meet you on the corner and we'll split up from there."

"You think he's still around here somewhere?"

McGee heard Gibbs' silent rebuke loud and clear.

"Right, Boss, er…getting the car."

Turning left from the liquor store, Gibbs walked down the block, looking into the side alleys for any trace of Turner. He had reached the next intersection by the time McGee pulled alongside him in the sedan.

Gibbs took a deep breath and raked his fingers through his silver hair and peered up and down the cross street.

"Boss," McGee called, holding his PDA in the air. "I checked for any hotel accommodation within walking distance around here. There are seven hotels, four boarding houses and a trailer park within a mile of this location. You want me to start making calls and see if Turner's registered?"

"Nope."

"Er…how we gonna find him?"

"Follow the trail," Gibbs said, walking towards a mangled paper bag that had been dropped on the sidewalk and contained a broken bottle of gin.

"Or...we could follow the trail," McGee muttered, following along behind as Gibbs headed for a man passed out on a nearby bench.

The smell of alcohol and puke was overpowering from five feet away and McGee gagged at the stench and pleaded with his stomach not to defy him. Gibbs rolled the man over so he could see his face.

"Looks like we found Turner."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Without finishing his meal, Tony made his cautious way into the living room. Despite his initial concerns, he had been pleased with the way he had managed to navigate Gibbs' home - with the exception of a few small trips and stumbles, he'd adjusted quite well. In the few days he'd been here he could recognize just about every creak of the timber floorboards and, apart from constantly bruising his shins on the coffee table, he had become very familiar with the layout of the house.

He rubbed at his forehead irritably, hoping it would ease the headache that had nagged him all evening. The day's exercise had left him feeling pleasantly sore and a little stiff as muscles he had not worked for almost two weeks protested their mistreatment.

He thought about taking his meds and turning in early but he was anxious for any news on Turner and he needed to know that his teammates were safe. He felt around the surface of the coffee table until he'd located his cell and placed it his shirt pocket in case someone called. Stretching his tall frame out on the couch, he waited for the lead agent's return.

It had been harder than Tony had imagined, sitting on his ass as McGee and Gibbs went after Turner - he had been watching Gibbs' six for nine years, after all. As he listened to them running out the door - leaving him in the protective care of two other agents -Tony struggled to contain his anger, resentment and frustration of a lost career and a seriously screwed-up life.

'_Get used to it, DiNozzo,_' he told himself bitterly. '_This __**is**__ your life now.'_

His headache had crept up a few notches and was pounding at his temples, he tried to quell his anger and relax when a roaring engine heralded the arrival of a car in the driveway. It took him a moment or two to realise that the motor was smaller than an NCIS sedan or Gibbs' Charger. He caught his breath as he belatedly recognised the sound of Ziva's Mini.

Groaning, he hauled his tired body into a sitting position as he heard a soft knock at the front door. He knew that Purcell or Brunner or whichever agent was covering the front of the house, would not let just anyone come to the house without announcing them first – unless that someone was a member of Gibbs' team whose prowess as an assassin, quite frankly, scared the crap out of them.

Tony carefully made his way to the front door, sighed deeply and rested his hand on one of two deadlocks Gibbs had installed on each door for Tony's safety. He momentarily struggled to turn both locks and she called to him in an unusually soft and tentative voice.

"Tony?"

The locks finally released and he opened the door, forcing a smile.

"Ziva, what brings you to this side of town?" he said, cringing internally at the false cheerfulness in his voice. "You've just missed Gibbs, he had to go chase bad guys while – lucky me – I get to wait here and twiddle my thumbs!"

"Agent Purcell told me," she said quietly. "I did not come to see Gibbs…I…I came to see you."

The silence that befell was almost painful but mercifully brief as Tony stepped back to allow her entry to the house.

"You'd better come in," Tony said flatly.

She followed as he capably but cautiously made his way back into the living room and took a seat on the couch.

"Sit," he said, trying to keep his tone casual. "Take the load off."

"I thought you might have been sleeping, the house was in darkness," she said.

"Is it?" he sniped. "I wouldn't know."

"I am sorry, Tony…I did not mean…"

"It's okay," he said quickly. "I know what you meant."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence and his mind's eye saw the pity and regret reflected in her dark eyes. He viciously suppressed his humiliation, then pasted on another fabricated smile and inhaled deeply.

"My saliva glands are going nuts, I'm guessing you brought supper," he said.

"I brought your favourite jelly donuts."

"Coffee machine's on. You want a cup?" he asked, grasping at anything to fill the silence.

"Please, Tony, do not go to any trouble."

"DiNozzo's rule number 7 – jelly donuts must be consumed with freshly brewed coffee," he said, the forced geniality turning his stomach.

He stood to walk into the kitchen and hit his shin painfully on the coffee table.

"Dammit," he cursed vehemently, causing Ziva to jump quickly to her feet and take his arm to steady him. He quickly jerked it from her grasp and spoke through clenched teeth.

"I'm fine."

She pulled back, obviously shaken by his reaction, and followed him into the kitchen where the aroma of coffee was much stronger. He removed two mugs from the cupboard and placed them next to the coffee machine.

"Would you like me to do that?" she offered.

"I can do it!" he snapped again. "You'd be surprised the things I've had to learn."

She closed her eyes hoping to lessen the impact of his sharp tone and the hardened expression marring his handsome features. When she re-opened her eyes, she watched with a mixture of emotions as Tony filled both cups. She tentatively stepped forward, offering to take them into the living room and was relieved when he accepted her help. They sat in solemn silence, sipping their coffee with a stifling tension encompassing them. Long minutes passed before Tony spoke again.

"Why are you here, Ziva?" he said quietly. "I mean…it's been nearly two weeks, why now?"

"I am here because you are my partner and I…I care. Ducky told me you have resigned from NCIS and I was hoping to convince you to reconsider."

"Whether I stay or go, I'm not your partner anymore," Tony said, his anger bubbling just below the surface. "My decision doesn't affect you."

"It does affect me," she said firmly. "I care about you and I believe that your decision to resign is premature and ill-advised."

He laughed humourlessly at her directness. "Subtly was never your strong suit, but hey, this is fun, we should do this more often!"

"Tony, you must realise how much everyone wants you back at work – Ducky said the director is more than happy to make the necessary changes to help you adjust. Once you have completed your curriculum at the blindness centre, there will be a position waiting for you at NCIS!"

"_I had a position at NCIS, Ziva - a job I loved and was damned good at" _He took a few composing breaths and spoke more calmly. "I was senior field agent on the Major Case Response Team – _Gibbs' _Major Case Response Team. I'm not interested in being the blind guy from MTAC or the blind guy on the Foreign Analyst team."

"What is the alternative, Tony? Sitting in Gibbs' basement and crying into your beer?"

"Nice work with the idiom! But it was bourbon not beer."

"This is not a joke, Tony!"

"_Do you see me laughing!_" he roared.

"All I am saying is that I do not believe that you have thought this through," she persisted.

"Oh…and you have?"

"You are being stubborn and pig-headed and…stubborn!" she spluttered, uncharacteristically flustered.

"You already said stubborn...I'm lovin' this talk, by the way," he quipped. "Why don't you just quit the crap and say what you came here to say?"

"You blame me for your blindness," she stated candidly.

"I _blame_ you for disregarding my orders!"

"If you had let me go into that house and disarm the bomb straight away, none of this would have happened!"

Tony slammed the half filled coffee cup onto the table and rose to his feet, ignoring the burning liquid that sloshed over his hand.

"So now it's _my fault?_ You know, Ziva, there's something you should know about apologising…you're supposed to _eat_ the humble pie, not shove it in my damn face!" he said, pacing furiously in front of the unlit fireplace.

"Tony…"

"No! You did this after Somalia - couldn't wait to point out _my_ faults, _my_ mistakes like you were totally blameless in that whole Rivkin situation. I let it go then because you'd been through so much and now you're doing it again – well guess what, I'm through with taking one for the team, this time _I'm not taking the blame_."

"I am not blaming you! I just do not understand - you know I am trained in disarming explosives. Why did you not let me try?"

"This is not Israel, Ziva, this is America and here we wait for the bomb squad!"

"In Mossad we would not have waited," Ziva stated.

"That explains why the turnover rate of Mossad officers is so damn high! Did you ever stop to consider that, unlike your old man, I think of you as more than just a commodity?"

"It is not necessary to bring my father into this," Ziva hissed.

"Why not? You bring him into work with you everyday! Face it, Ziva, he's the reason you think you have to be the best at everything…the smartest, the bravest, the one who never makes mistakes."

"You do not know what you are talking about."

"You're not in Mossad now," Tony continued. "You can quit trying to prove yourself to Daddy. If we didn't think you were worth risking our own lives for, we'd have never gone to Somalia. Oh, hey, where the hell was Daddy when you were in Somalia? Huh?"

Ziva's eyes flashed with fury as she stepped into Tony's personal space. Barely containing her rage, she spoke in a low threatening voice and poked her index finger into his chest to emphasise her words.

"You do not know everything about my father. You have no right to say these things."

"What are you gonna do, Ziva?" Tony asked quietly. "Knock me to the ground, hold your gun to my gut? Go ahead – this time I won't even see it coming."

"I did not come here to fight with you Tony," she said firmly.

"Why _did_ you come here?" he asked in a voice edged with the frost of resentment. "If you came to ease your conscience, you can leave right now, cos I don't need your pity and I certainly don't want it."

He heard her sharp intake of breath a moment before she pivoted on her heel, picked up her bag and stalked to the door, slamming it behind her. Shouldering her way passed Agent Purcell she walked quickly to her car, revving the engine and slamming the gearshift into reverse before spinning the wheels on the driveway in her haste to leave.

Tony dropped onto the couch and took a few deep breaths as he ran his hands over the back of his neck and tried to massage the throbbing away. Making sure his cell was still in his pocket, he reached for his meds, dry swallowed them and laid back on the lounge to wait for Gibbs to come home or sleep to claim him.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs stood in the observation room, watching intently as Harry Turner swayed dangerously in his seat in the interrogation room. Three strong cups of coffee later, Turner was finally starting to show some kind of coherency.

When McGee and Gibbs brought him back to the Navy Yard for questioning they read him his rights again, on camera, in the interrogation room – careful to have a one of the Legal team present to ensure a righteous collar.

As a part of the arrest procedure they had 'patted him down' and located a key in his pocket to the Fairview Hostel in Fairfax. McGee had gone back to the bullpen to contact the hostel manager and to arrange a search warrant. The door burst open and McGee hustled in.

"Boss, the judge signed off on the warrant about twenty minutes ago," he said. "Agents Nixon and Jameson are on their way to the hostel to search Turner's room and I've arranged for the towing crew to impound the truck. It should be here in about 30 minutes and Abby's standing by."

"Good job."

"You think he's gonna be sober enough to tell us anything?"

"If not, we'll have to wait for the truck and the rifle." Gibbs replied, knowing that if there were anything to find, Abby would find it.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Ziva drove her Mini hastily across town toward her apartment building; seemingly oblivious to the cacophony of curses and car horns she left in her wake. She was reeling as Tony's angry words reverberated in her head. In the four years that she had known him, she had never seen the usually even-tempered man so angry – of course, she had never seen him so grievously injured either. Her heart ached as she recalled those expression-filled eyes, now sightless and awash with anger and despair.

She wondered what effect Tony's anger would have on his report and whether her position as a probationary NCIS agent would be terminated. Embarrassed and ashamed of her fleeting moment of selfishness, she quickly dismissed the thought. Whatever happened she would face the consequences but she felt her chest tighten again as she realised that, this time, their partnership, their friendship may be lost forever.

Her cell rang and, hoping it was Tony, she answered without checking the user ID.

"David."

"Special Agent David, this is Director Vance," the voice replied, causing her a stab of disappointment and apprehension.

"Good evening, Director," she replied, pleased with the calmness her voice conveyed.

"I was told that you were in the building this afternoon," Vance said. "I would have preferred to have this discussion in person but we'll have to make do on the phone."

"Sir?"

"I visited with Special Agents DiNozzo and Gibbs yesterday. I received DiNozzo's verbal account of what happened on the day you and he were injured. We also discussed what further action should be taken with regard to your status as a probationary agent."

"Yes, Sir," Ziva said, ready to accept whatever decision had been made.

"Special Agent DiNozzo has requested the inquiry be dropped and no further disciplinary action be taken." Vance said. "Special Agent Gibbs has agreed that you will resume your role as probationary agent on his team."

She released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"David?"

"I am here, Director," she uttered.

"Doctor Mallard has advised me that you have been medically cleared to commence light duties on Monday. As Gibbs is still on leave, you will report to Special Agent McGee," he instructed.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Don't thank me, David. Professionally speaking, both DiNozzo and Gibbs have stuck their necks out for you - and not for the first time. Don't make them regret it."

Vance disconnected the call and Ziva allowed herself to relax slightly. She arrived at her apartment building and swiped her security card to access the residents parking area. Parking in her designated spot she remained in her car as Tony's angry words rushed back to her.

"_Face it, Ziva, he's the reason you think you have to be the best at everything…the smartest, the bravest, the one who never makes mistakes."_

She had always felt the need to be the best and the brightest, second place was never good enough for her father. As time passed, the drive to always be the best became a part of her – ingrained and intrinsic. She had always relied on herself, on her own judgement and, even today, she still didn't know how to admit she needed help, how to say 'I don't know', or how to fully trust others to watch her back.

Life with Mossad had always been highly volatile. More often than not there was no time to bond with a partner, to form an alliance. They were here one day and gone the next – it wasn't conducive to forming attachments and making friends - she got in, did what she had to do and got out.

She had never had a partner risk his own life by running back into a live bombsite for her. She had never been part of a team that would enter a terrorist cell to avenge her - the same terrorist cell where her own father had left her to face unthinkable atrocities. A team that, unlike her Mossad colleagues and unlike her own father, would accept that she was not perfect and would willingly risk their lives for her.

Some deep, nearly forgotten part of Ziva's heart shattered and she knew that whatever else happened, she had to make peace with Tony.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

McGee watched intently from the observation room as Gibbs sat across the table from Harry Turner and his court appointed attorney, Nadine Goldstein. Ms Goldstein was a 30 something female with sharp, intelligent eyes and black hair pulled back severely.

"Agent Gibbs," she said curtly. "I insist that my client be released immediately so that medical attention can be provided."

"Already had a doctor check him out," Gibbs replied casually.

"He was a medical examiner!"

"Still a doctor."

"This is highly irregular!" she blustered.

"Your client's wife regained consciousness two hours ago and named him as the person who nearly beat her to death. There are two Metro cops standing outside that door waiting to take him into custody if we don't charge him. Whatever way you look at it, he's spending the night in a cell."

The attorney tsked her disapproval loudly but added no further protest.

Gibbs turned his head and nodded toward the observation room. A moment later, McGee entered carrying an M-16 in a large evidence bag and placed it on the table.

"This weapon belong to you?" Gibbs asked.

"I have a licence," Turner slurred.

"Answer the question. Is this your weapon?"

Turner concentrated on steadying his focus and looked the rifle over carefully.

"It's mine – what about it? It's not illegal for me to own a registered firearm."

"It is if it's used in the attempted murder of a federal agent," Gibbs said, handing the rifle back to McGee. "Get this to Abby."

Turner spluttered incoherently. "What are you talking about…I didn't…"

"Where were you three nights ago, at approximately 8pm?"

Turner laughed. "In my room at the hostel, I've been there every night for the last five nights."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"I was alone if that's what you're asking. What the hell is this all about?"

"A shot from an M-16 was fired through the window of a federal agent's home."

"And you think it was me?"

"You're a former US Army sergeant, who served two tours of Nam," Gibbs read from his file. "Says here, you were considered the best long range shooter in your platoon and you made some pretty public threats at your son's trial."

Turner smiled sadly and shook his head. "The shot was made from what distance?" he asked.

"Approximately 300 yards." Gibbs replied.

"Through a window at night," Turner repeated.

"Not a difficult shot when you can handle a rifle and use a night-scope and laser."

"You Army?" Turner asked.

"Marine."

"Sniper?" When Gibbs remained silent Turner continued. "Yeah, you got that look about ya."

Turner extended both hands towards Gibbs and held them palms down over the table. Both hands trembled vigorously.

"Take a good look, Gibbs, you really think I could make that shot?"

Gibbs' stomach clenched painfully.

"Mind telling me what you were doing with an M-16 in your room?" he asked.

"My son is in a federal prison for the next 25 years and I nearly killed my wife with my own hands. You really gotta ask what I was doing with the rifle?" he said, a painful sounding sob escaping from his throat. "I was gonna blow my brains out but I lost my damn nerve."

Gibbs was on his feet, gathering his papers and placing them back into the file.

"We're running a ballistics test on the rifle," he said. "We get a match I'll be back, we don't you'll be handed over to Metro PD for the attempted murder of your wife. Wait here."

Gibbs stalked from the interrogation room and into the operations room, spotting McGee walking quickly towards him from the stairwell on the opposite side of the large room. When the men were just eight feet apart, the ding of the elevator sounded and Abby stepped out between them.

"We got the wrong guy," all three said simultaneously.

"Abs?" Gibbs said.

"The bullet fired through the window of Tony's apartment was not fired from Turner's M-16," Abby replied.

"Man's got the DT's," Gibbs said. "There's no way he makes that shot. McGee?"

"Boss, Turner's Ford F-150 was just brought in…the exhaust is at the rear, not the side."

"Damn it!" Gibbs cursed.

McGee's desk phone rang and when Gibbs motioned for him to take the call, he jogged back to his desk.

"I can still give the truck the once over Gibbs," Abby said. "Maybe Tony was wrong about the exhaust."

"Doubt it, Abs, he seemed pretty damned sure, that's good enough for me."

"Boss!" McGee said, hurrying back to them white faced and wide-eyed.

"You got something, McGee?"

"Boss, Metro PD got a report of a stolen Ford F-150 with modified side exhausts. The owner's been working in Toronto for two weeks, didn't know it was missing until an hour ago."

"And?"

"The truck's fitted with a hidden low-jack device and they were able to trace it."

"Where, McGee?"

"Pearson Street, Boss. One block from your house."

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Nineteen**

Gibbs and McGee burst from the elevator and ran for their agency sedan, each pressing their cells firmly to their ears.

"McGee?" Gibbs barked as they climbed into the car.

"Nothing, Boss," he said, willing calmness into his voice. "Purcell and Brunner's cells are diverting to voicemail. Have you reached Tony?"

"No."

He started the engine and flicked his cell to McGee who took a sharp catch. "Call Abby, tell her to keep trying Purcell and Brunner. You keep calling DiNozzo."

"On it, Boss," he said, securing his seatbelt.

Gibbs floored the gas pedal, sending the vehicle into a brief uncontrolled slide as it sped through the near empty parking lot toward the exit.

Minutes that seemed like hours passed as the car sped through the city streets, cutting corners, running traffic lights and causing several near collisions. McGee repeatedly called Tony's number, uttering an uncustomary curse each time his call diverted to voicemail.

His eyes widened and he inhaled sharply when his call was answered but no one spoke.

"Tony?" McGee said anxiously. "Tony are you there? Someone's there, Boss, I can hear them breathing." McGee cocked his head and looked confused. "Actually, I can hear snoring…Tony? Tony, wake up! Come on, Tony, answer me!"

"Gimme the damn cell," Gibbs snapped with more heat than he'd intended.

"Dammit, DiNozzo, wake up!" the former Marine yelled in a voice reminiscent of his DI days.

With the cell still held firmly against his ear and only one hand securing the steering wheel, Gibbs swung the sedan around a tight bend, oversteering then overcorrecting as the car fishtailed wildly before speeding onward. Despite his calm expression, McGee's muscles were reaching new levels in rigidity as, not for the first time, he made a mental note to talk to Abby about installing an additional brake pedal on the passenger side of the car.

"Maybe he took his meds, Boss."

"_Now_ he starts following doctor's orders," Gibbs muttered sarcastically.

The two exchanged an uneasy look. Gibbs turned his attention back to the cell, banging it loudly against the console and window then producing an ear-spitting whistle.

"Boss?" the slurred voice sounded over the speaker, causing McGee to wonder how often Gibbs had used that particular wake up method on his senior field agent.

"Tony? Are you okay?" Gibbs asked.

"Sleeping," the tired voice replied.

"Tony, listen to me. Turner is not the shooter, repeat, _Turner is __**not**__ the shooter!_" Gibbs said. "The real shooter may be outside the house. Do you understand?"

Despite the pull of the medication and the fuzziness in his brain, Tony sat up quickly - a little too quickly if the dizziness was any indication.

"Please tell me you don't mean this house," he muttered softly.

"There's no response from your protection detail. The shooter's truck is parked a block from the house, there's a good chance he's outside. We're on our way."

"Boss, I'm unarmed and I can't see," Tony said forcing the fatigue from his brain. "If he gets in here, I'm as good as dead."

"You keep talking like that, I'll kill you myself."

Tony inhaled quickly and tried to clear his mind of calamitous thoughts.

"How far out are you?" he asked.

"About 10 minutes. Tony, go down to the basement, there's a 9mm in the cabinet under the workbench. Get it and take cover under the stairs. We're coming for you."

"This is so wrong," Tony lamented.

"You got a better idea, I'm listening."

"No…I meant it's wrong that the shooter is coming after _me_ and not _you!"_

Gibbs immediately recognised what his agent was doing. Despite the critical situation, the younger man was using the normalcy of the exchange to get his head straight. He'd seen him do it a thousand times and if it helped keep his agent alive, Gibbs was more than happy to play along.

"You ever wonder why that is, Boss? Why it's always me?"

"Nope," Gibbs said.

"Wait…_why_ don't you wonder why it's always me?"

"I _know_ you, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied casually. "Haul your ass downstairs, we're nine minutes out."

The sound of smashing glass sounded from the kitchen and Tony's voice dropped to a whisper.

"Too late, I got company. Where's the fuse box?"

"Entry hall cupboard, second shelf," Gibbs replied briskly.

"Boss? Fuse box?" McGee questioned.

"He's gonna level the playing field, McGee. 'S gonna cut the power – if this guy wants him, he's gonna have to find him in the dark."

"Sweet," McGee said. "You think it'll work?"

"Not if the guy has a flashlight," Gibbs replied pressing the gas pedal flat against the floor.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Tony could hear the sound of someone jimmying the dead lock on the back door and knew there was no time for him to get to the basement and the gun.

He made his way carefully back into the living room, inordinately grateful that he'd heard Gibbs close the heavy drapes earlier that evening. With the power now cut the house would be in complete darkness. He gritted his teeth and cursed silently as his bruised shin, once again, made painful contact with the coffee table. He felt his way across the room and pressed himself as deeply as possible into the farthest corner.

He heard the telltale click of the lock as it released and the door swung open, the sounds of soft footsteps were accentuated by the silence of the house. The small amount of salt that had spilled on the floor when he'd dropped the saltshaker, now served him well as it crunched underfoot, alerting him to the approaching footsteps of the intruder.

Tony stood stock-still – he felt the trickle of sweat run down his spine and hoped like hell that the rigorous beating of his own heart, pounding painfully against his sternum, could not be heard.

'_If this guy has a flashlight, it's all over_,' Tony thought from his very open position in the corner of the room.

Relief fleetingly rushed through him as he heard the light switch flick on and off several times and heard a whispered curse. The floorboards to the left of the couch creaked under the weight of the trespasser as he entered the living room.

Tony almost guffawed at the soft grunt from the man as the coffee table claimed another victim – the intruder had wordlessly revealed his position and that he did not have a flashlight.

The ex-detective's mind drifted back to that afternoon when he and Gibbs returned to the house from the sports centre. After Tony had tripped over Gibbs' baseball bat, the former Marine had leant it against the unlit fireplace – it wouldn't deflect bullets but it may give him the element of surprise. Tony grimaced as he realised the intruder was between him and the bat.

He paused, listening for movement. The whisper of footsteps to his left told him the man was in the middle of the room and Tony found himself straining his eyes uselessly against his blindness and the cover of darkness. The timber floorboards betrayed the man's position again and Tony realised with a certain amount of trepidation, that he was standing only a few feet away. He held his breath, terrified that the sound of his own breathing would give him away, then a thought struck him. Closing his eyes, he listened as closely as he could and he heard the quick, yet quiet, breaths of the intruder. The sound was muffled and Tony realised the man was standing with his back to him.

By his reckoning, Gibbs was still more than five minutes out and Tony knew this guy would find him before the team leader arrived. If he were going to die tonight, he would not do it cowering in the darkness – no matter what the circumstances.

It was time to take the initiative.

Tony burst from his position. Grabbing the unsuspecting intruder from behind, he pinned his arms to his body. Once the element of surprise was gone, the man began to struggle against Tony's hold.

The agent's training kicked in and he quickly determined the intruder to be about six feet tall and about 190 pounds. Judging by the strength of the body struggling to break free, Tony realised with considerable dread that the guy was damned fit.

The man jerked suddenly and threw his head back. Catching Tony completely by surprise, the hard skull connected with the agent's forehead. His knees buckled and for a horrifying moment he thought he was going to break his own rule and pass out. He held on tenaciously as warm, sticky blood rushed down his face from a gash in his eyebrow.

The man twisted until they were standing almost face-to-face. Tony was unable to maintain his hold. He ran his hands down his assailant's arms until he located the gun. He wrapped his long fingers over the other man's and held on desperately. The two grappled - the barrel of the gun pointing dangerously from one to the other in their struggle.

The intruder released one hand from the gun. Tony felt the man's shoulder drop, telegraphing his intention to throw a punch. Though he could not see the blow coming, Tony turned his head and the fist struck him a mind-numbing blow to the temple. Before he could react another blow caught him solidly on the jaw. He managed to maintain his balance and still held doggedly to the gun.

Several body blows followed, the force almost knocking him down. Only the adrenalin charging his system and the thought that backup was minutes away, kept Tony on his feet. He was gasping for breath. No matter how much air he drew in, it wasn't enough. His arms and legs were trembling from his efforts and he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer.

Taking a chance, he removed one hand from the gun. With all the strength he could muster, he struck out with the heel of his hand. A short stifled scream followed the unmistakable crunch of smashing bone and cartilage and Tony knew he'd found his mark.

Blood ran freely from the intruder's broken nose. Pain and fury spurred him onward. He pushed forward, driving Tony backward until he'd forced him against the large front windows. For a terrible moment, Tony thought the windows might give under the force of their combined weight. Pushing back with all the energy he had left, the men continued their struggle near the unlit fireplace.

The intruder hooked his leg behind Tony's and swept his feet out from under him. Both men fell heavily to the ground as the deafening roar of a gunshot rent the air. Pain exploded through Tony's body and air whooshed out of his lungs. Shock and impact jolted the weapon free of both men's grasp and it clattered and slid along the timber floor.

Tony knew the other man had been shot. He'd heard the shout of pain before they'd hit the ground. He could hear the moaning and the sound of movement nearby – definitely not a kill shot. He needed to find the gun but didn't have the energy to stand. He dragged his exhausted body in the direction he'd heard the gun slide. He was unaware that the intruder had painfully regained his feet.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00

Ziva parked her Mini at the kerb in front of Gibbs' house and took a deep breath. She felt sick about her earlier confrontation with Tony. Although it was likely that their partnership was over, she was not prepared to allow their friendship to end with such hostile, angry words.

The house was still in darkness but, as she now knew, it was not an indication that Tony had turned in for the night. She frowned as she realised that the protection detail had not approached her. Despite the fact that they knew who she was, SOP dictated that all visitors were to be approached and their arrival and departure times recorded.

She felt uneasy as she climbed from her car and crossed the front lawn. Uneasiness turned to alarm when she saw Agent Purcell lying on the ground behind some bushes. Drawing her weapon, she scanned the area for any movement as she knelt by Purcell's side. Relieved to find a strong pulse, she removed the gaffer tape from his mouth and noticed a wad of gauze dressing lying discarded nearby. Her head snapped back as she confirmed her suspicion that it had been soaked in chloroform.

She spun quickly and trained her weapon toward the house, at the sound of a loud thump against the living room windows and the distinct sound of fighting from inside.

"Oh my God, Tony," she uttered.

She sprinted for the front door and pushed away similar and still painful memories of Michael Rivkin's last moments.

Reaching the door, she placed the barrel of her gun against the lock and was about to pull the trigger when she remembered she had seen the locks earlier that evening. They had been reinforced specifically to withstand gunfire. She slammed her hand angrily against the door and removed her lock pick, working as quickly as her plaster cast and slightly trembling fingers allowed. She stifled a loud gasp and felt her blood run cold as a gunshot sounded from inside the house. Viciously suppressing thoughts of her partner lying dead on the floor, she focussed her attention on the locks.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00

Tony was gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. He scrambled across the living room floor on his stomach. His outstretched hands, desperately seeking the slick, metal gun. His progress was halted and he bit back a yell as his assailant landed a brutal kick above Tony's right kidney. A surge of pain and adrenalin gave him the strength to force his sluggish body to move. He quickly rolled onto his back, kicking out blindly with everything he had.

The intruder screamed and reeled back in agony. The force of Tony's kick caused the man's knee to hyperextend, tearing the crucial ligament. The momentary respite was long enough. Tony rolled back onto his stomach to continue to search for the gun. He felt the heat of the still warm gun barrel and he wrapped his long fingers tightly around the grip.

He heard the lumbering approach as the badly limping assailant returned.

'_This is it. Kill or be killed.'_ Tony thought.

Turning quickly, Tony pointed the gun in the direction of the approaching footsteps.

"I have the gun," he rasped, barely recognising his own voice. "Stop or I'll shoot."

The heavy footsteps continued to approach as the assailant stood poised to crush Tony's skull with a ferocious swing of the baseball bat.

Ziva appeared in the doorway, willing her eyes to adjust quickly to the darkness. She saw the vague outline of one man standing over another.

"Tony!" she yelled.

The guttural groan of his assailant signalled the start of the bat's downward arc. The muzzle of the gun flashed repeatedly as Tony, placed four bullets in the chest of the intruder, eerily reminiscent of Rivkin's death. The man fell heavily across Tony's lower body but was dead before he hit the ground.

Tony allowed his body to fall back against the floor - every vestige of adrenalin and energy drained from his system. His legs were pinned by the weight of the dead man but he lacked the energy to climb out from under him. His chest heaved from the exertion and his body trembled with shock and pain. He'd been in more life and death struggles than he could count but never before had he been unable to use his eyes. He was completely spent.

"Tony?" Ziva called.

She flicked the light switch several times before realising the power must have been cut. As she ran to the window, she quickly drew back the curtains, bathing the room in the subdued glow from a nearby streetlight.

She ensured the intruder was dead then rolled his body and freed Tony's legs. She grabbed a light afghan from the couch and kneeled beside him. Tony was nearly unconscious and for a terrifying moment she thought he might have been shot. She checked him quickly for serious injuries before wrapping the afghan around him.

"Tony? Tony, talk to me," she urged. "Can you hear me?"

"Ziva?" Tony whispered, as he tried to draw breath into his lungs.

"I am here, Tony. You must lie still, try to slow your breathing."

"Ziva?"

"Shh, just rest. Wait until you get your breath back."

Tony shook his head determinedly.

"No, can't…can't wait," he gasped. "Have…have to know."

"What is it Tony? What is so important that it can't wait?"

"P_lease_ tell me that wasn't your new boyfriend."

She bit back a grin and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. _'Leave it to Tony to make a joke about something that had hurt them both so deeply,_' she thought.

"No, Tony, he was _not_ my new boyfriend."

"Oh, thank God," he said with a crooked grin. His expression suddenly became serious and he turned his bloodied face in her direction. "What made you come back?"

"That is what partners do, yes?"

"Yes," he said, before dropping his head back against her thigh. "Yes, it is."

Exhaustion and sleep claimed him in less than a minute and she didn't have the heart to disturb him. For a brief moment, she watched him sleep, thankful that they would have the chance to repair their tempestuous relationship.

She reached for her cell to call in an agent involved shooting, when the roar of an engine and the screech of tyres in the driveway alerted her to Gibbs and McGee's arrival. She placed Tony's head on a pillow and whispered when he stirred.

"Lie still, I will be right back."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

She opened the door and met Gibbs charging up the front steps.

"The situation is contained, Tony will be fine," she said, still unsure of her standing with the lead agent.

"Where is he?" he asked gruffly.

"He was exhausted and fell asleep. I did not want to wake him. He has a bad cut above one eye and some bruises. We will need Ducky, the man is dead."

"You killed him?" Gibbs asked.

"I wish I had," she replied flatly. "Tony killed him."

Gibbs paused for a moment, wondering how a blind and unarmed DiNozzo managed to kill his assailant. Knowing he wouldn't rest until he saw the younger man with his own eyes, Gibbs walked into the house, turning the power main on and grabbing the first aid bag as he went.

"I will assist McGee."

"You're still on suspension and medical leave til Monday," Gibbs replied bluntly. His eyes softened a little and he added. "We could use the help."

She nodded and left the room.

Gibbs walked into his living room and silently assessed his agent's condition. Tony's face was calm in sleep but alarmingly pale; the dried and congealed blood that streaked his face added a gruesome look. The deep split in his eyebrow would more than likely need stitches and had already caused the eyelid to bruise and swell closed.

Gibbs ignored the protest of his knees and squatted beside his agent, reaching forward to nudge his shoulder.

"Hey, Tony," he said in a rare gentle tone. When the younger man stirred but didn't wake he tried again. "DiNozzo, you with me?"

"Mon your sixsh, Bosh," came the sleepy reply.

"Need to getcha off the floor so I can take a look at you. Think you can get up?"

"I'm on the floor?" Tony asked in surprise.

"Yep."

"Oh, skinda comfortable…" he said snuggling under the blanket.

"Hey, no sleeping! I'm gonna help you to the couch, you ready."

"Mm ready," Tony said, wincing as his facial expressions aggravated his split eyebrow. "Ow!"

"Easy, you got yourself a shiner," he said, helping Tony to his feet and steadying him as he swayed dangerously. "You hurt anywhere I should know about?"

"S'quicker to tell you where I don't hurt," Tony mumbled.

He helped Tony to the couch and reached into the first aid bag. He shook and snapped an instant icepack into action, placed it in Tony's hand and guided it over his swollen eye.

"Hold that there until I get something to clean you up," he told the younger man.

"Boss, you know who he was?" Tony asked quietly.

Gibbs took a long hard look at the face of the man who had almost killed his agent. He didn't recognise him. As this was one time Ducky wouldn't have to determine the cause of death, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and quickly checked his pockets for ID. With the exception of a packet of gum, car keys and a spare clip, the man was clean and they would have to wait until he was officially identified.

"Don't know the face and there's no ID," he replied. "Have to wait til we get his prints."

Gibbs returned from the kitchen a few moments later with a bowl of warm water and some clean towels. Tony sighed and dropped the icepack onto the couch.

"Something on your mind?" Gibbs asked.

"It's not right," Tony complained. "A man comes to kill you, he could at least tell you his name or carry some ID. It's kinda rude."

"Ya think there's some kinda etiquette?" Gibbs asked casually, "Just be glad he didn't get what he came for."

He tilted Tony's head toward the light so he could he could get a closer look at the split eyebrow.

"Hope Ducky packed his sewing kit," the former Marine said.

"Oh no, Boss, not stitches again."

"Fraid so, it's deep."

Tony started to squirm under the lead agent's ministrations, hissing, squeaking and gasping as Gibbs cleaned the wound with an antiseptic swipe.

"Sit still before I knock ya down and sit on ya?" Gibbs threatened.

"I must say your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, Jethro," Ducky said as he and Palmer enter the living room. "Perhaps you'll allow me to take a look at our young man?"

"He's all yours, Duck," Gibbs replied, surrendering his position to the elderly ME.

"Mister Palmer, would you be so kind as to attend to our other guest while I see to Anthony?"

"Yes, of course, Doctor Mallard," Jimmy said. "I'll get the gurney."

Jimmy gave Tony a friendly slap on the shoulder as he passed, relieved and pleased that his friend had survived another close call.

"Thank God, you arrived when you did, Ducky," Tony whispered conspiratorially. "The boss isn't exactly known for his gentle touch. Well…maybe with the ladies…I mean, you know, four wives…why do you think the ladies find him so attractive, anyway? The haircut? The clothes, I mean, come on!"

"Er…Anthony," Ducky said nervously.

Tony grimaced. "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"

"Yep," Gibbs said with a hint of laughter evident in his voice.

"Look at that! That guy must have hit me harder than I thought, Boss, cos I'm saying crazy things again!"

Gibbs watched in amusement as Tony tensed and waited for a head slap.

"Ah, Jethro, perhaps you could administer that head slap after I make sure Anthony hasn't suffered another concussion. Hmm?"

"I'll be with McGee if you need me," the lead agent said as he strode from the room.

"Thanks, Ducky, you're a life saver," Tony whispered.

"I'm afraid the vast majority of my regular patients would disagree with you on that point, my dear boy," Ducky chuckled.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs found McGee sitting with Purcell and Brunner on the back landing. The two agents looking a little green but none the worse for wear after their encounter with the chloroform.

"You two alright?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, Sir," they replied simultaneously.

"What the hell happened?"

"As we were just telling McGee, everything was quiet. Agent David was the only visitor after you left. We maintained our radio checks at 15 minute intervals according to SOP's," Purcell explained.

"He must have been hiding somewhere in the bushes, watching us. He hit seconds after one of our radio checks. Whoever he was, he was good - he came from behind and I didn't hear or see a thing," Brunner said.

"Same with me, Gibbs, one minute I was doing a radio check and the next thing I remember is waking up in the bushes, trussed like a turkey."

"You said Agent David was here earlier?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, Agent Gibbs," Purcell said, looking a little uncomfortable. "She came by about 30 minutes after you left, she spoke with Tony and she left, too."

Gibbs nodded. "Protection detail's over; go home, get some rest. I want your reports on my desk by zero ten hundred."

"So…Tony's okay?" Brunner asked before leaving.

"Ducky's checking him over, he'll be fine. Go home."

They watched the agents leave and Gibbs turned to McGee. "Where's Ziva?"

"She's checking the front yard, trying to work out how this guy got the drop on two federal agents."

Gibbs nodded and walked purposefully down the side path. He was not a great communicator, preferring to lead his team by example rather than words. But he had come frighteningly close to losing a team member tonight and nothing concerned Leroy Jethro Gibbs more than the safety of his team.

It was time the young Israeli understood that, although she undoubtedly suffered the most in the Rivkin/Somalia situation – there _were _other casualties.

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Twenty**

Gibbs walked down the side path and into the front yard of his house. He found Ziva checking the area with a flashlight.

"What you got?" he asked.

"Footprints," she said. "I believe the intruder came over the fence and waited in the bushes for quite a while before making his move."

"What makes you think he was waiting?"

She held up an evidence bag that contained four gum wrappers. "I cannot be certain these are his but if they are, it would indicate that he was hiding there for some time."

Gibbs squinted at the gum wrappers. "They're his."

"How can you be sure?"

"Found a matching packet of gum in his pocket. We'll have Abby run the prints anyway," Gibbs said. "Why do you think he waited?"

"Perhaps he was waiting for the cover of darkness or for the right time to take out the protection detail?"

"Could have been waiting for Tony's visitor to leave," he suggested, continuing when she avoided meeting his eyes. "Were you gonna tell me that you were here earlier?"

"Yes…no…I do not know."

"Ziva?"

"I did not tell you because it did not go well. I knew you would be angry that Tony was upset."

"Ya think?" Gibbs asked. "So, you didn't get the response you expected?"

"I expected Tony to blame me for his blindness," she replied honestly. "I did not expect him to re-hash matters concerning my father and Somalia."

"He _doesn't_ blame you for his blindness, Ziva," Gibbs assured.

"It does not matter. No one could blame me more than I blame myself, Gibbs," she said solemnly. "Not even you."

"He's still carrying a whole lotta hurt from the situation with Rivkin and Somalia."

Ziva dropped her head and stared at a fixed point on the ground, unable to meet the intense blue gaze.

"As am I," she replied softly.

"Ziva…when we heard you were dead…_no one_ wanted to avenge you more than Tony. Hell, the whole Somalia op was his idea!"

She lifted her head and he saw the conflict in her eyes.

"A lotta things were said in anger back then…a lotta lies and painful accusations," Gibbs recalled. "No one can keep those feelings buried forever - not even DiNozzo."

Obviously uncomfortable broaching the subject, he cleared his throat before he continued.

"Only you know the hell you endured in Somalia but...just so you know…you weren't the only one who suffered."

"I wanted to help him, Gibbs, I did not come here to argue with him."

He took another deep breath and exhaled loudly. "He may be facing a life without sight, Ziva. You wanna help him, you need to cut him some slack – take one for the team - just like he did for you."

"That is why I came back tonight, to speak with him," she said. "To make things right between us."

"There's been a lotta hurt - 's gonna take awhile to make things right between you."

"I am aware of that...I can wait," she looked at him uncertainly and he nodded his head.

"You're back on light duties on Monday."

"Yes," she replied. "Am I still on your team?"

"Did the director tell you otherwise?"

"No, I just thought that after…"

"You thought I'd cut you from the team."

"Yes," she answered truthfully.

"Competitiveness among team mates hones skills, keeps people sharp - but shouldn't come at the expense of teamwork and should _never_ cross into insubordination."

"I do not think that I…"

Gibbs raised his voice slightly to cut-off her protest.

"I got no problem with the banter in the office – DiNozzo dishes it out, he has to cop it sweet. But if you're going to make it past probie on my team you need to follow the chain of command - that means heeding Tony's or any other senior agent's orders, especially in the field. We clear?"

"Yes, Gibbs, we are clear."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs and Ziva walked back into the living room in time to see McGee and Palmer walking down the stairs.

"Where's DiNozzo?" he asked.

"Guest room, Boss," McGee replied. "We just helped Ducky get him upstairs."

"He fell asleep on the couch, Doctor Mallard thought he'd be more comfortable in his bed," Palmer added.

Gibbs glanced up the stairs to the guest room door then dragged his attention back to the living room.

"What do we know about the shooter?"

"Livescan fingerprint scanner identified him as Russell Carney, former Marine who was medically discharged approximately 4 years ago," McGee replied.

"Any connection to DiNozzo?"

"Not that I know of. I have Abby pulling his service record and I'll run a more in depth background check when I get back to the office...that's if you don't need me, Boss."

"Go – both of you, there's nothing more to be done here tonight."

"We don't know if Carney was working alone," McGee said. "Should I call the director about another protection detail?"

"Last one didn't help much," Gibbs said with a casual shrug.

"Boss, we don't know _why _this guy was after Tony. It could have been a hit or there could be a contract out on him. What if there's another attempt?"

"This was not a hit, McGee," Ziva said. "A professional hit man would have been better prepared and would not have failed."

"Ziva's right," Gibbs agreed. "This was personal."

"Still doesn't mean Carney was working alone," McGee repeated.

"We'll be fine," Gibbs replied. The determined look in his eye and the set of his jaw, left McGee in no doubt that the team leader was ready for anything. "Go, call me when you've got something on Carney."

"Right, Boss."

Gibbs and Ziva exchanged a knowing glance and a nod before she followed McGee through the door and Gibbs closed it behind them. Walking back toward the staircase he found Palmer standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room, not sure what to do with himself.

"So…here we are…alone at last!" Palmer said, laughing nervously at his own attempt at levity.

"I'll be with Ducky," Gibbs scowled as he climbed the stairs.

Jimmy grimaced. He'd come along way from the jittery young man who even McGee could intimidate - and who'd have thought that he'd become quite good friends with Tony, in and out of work. He wondered what it was about Leroy Jethro Gibbs that made him so nervous that he spoke before he engaged his brain. Sure, there was the steely gaze that penetrated his very soul, the "take no prisoners" attitude, the "mess with me and die" facial expression…okay, so maybe he _did_ know why it was that, after nearly five years, Gibbs could still cower him with a withering look.

Gibbs stopped on the landing and looked at the young ME pacing the living room and looking decidedly uneasy.

"Jimmy," he called. "There's soda in the fridge, help yourself."

Palmer wore a smile like a split watermelon at the use of his first name.

"Don't mind if I do, Jethro!" he replied. "I…I mean…Agent Jethro… Gibbs…Agent Gibbs!"

The aforementioned withering look appeared on the former Marine's face and as he continued on to the guest room. Palmer melted into the couch, dropped his head into his hands and groaned in embarrassment.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Ducky was fluffing the pillows and straightening the comforter when Gibbs entered the guest room and regarded the younger man's supine form with thinly veiled concern. His agent was sprawled across the bed, his head propped up and his lips slightly parted in sleep. The swelling of his injured eye had increased substantially, stretching the badly discoloured skin tightly across his eye socket. It contrasted sharply against his blanched skin and the stark white butterfly clips applied to his lacerated eyebrow.

"Geez, Duck!" Gibbs exclaimed. "Looks like he's gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson!"

"Mike Tyson? Oh my word, no! I am happy to advise that Anthony still has both his ears!" Ducky chortled. "He is, however, suffering from exhaustion and a rather nasty orbital ecchymosis."

Gibbs frowned, causing Ducky to add.

"A black eye, my friend, and a rather spectacular one, I must say!"

Tony hadn't stirred despite the movement and the conversation around him.

"You sedate him?" Gibbs asked, surprised as Ducky gave a little chuckle.

"I didn't have to. He had already pushed himself well beyond his limitations before we got here! He expended his last drop of energy with all that bluff and bravado he performed downstairs."

"Didn't fool you either, huh?"

"Does he ever?" Ducky asked. "One minute he was talking to Mr Palmer and the next he was out like a light. Extraordinary thing to see - the poor lad, fell asleep mid-sentence. If I'm not mistaken, I believe it was between the words 'autopsy' and 'gremlin.'"

"Looks uncomfortable," Gibbs said. "Sure he's okay, like that?"

"He needs to keep his head elevated, it will help reduce the swelling," Ducky replied.

"It ain't working, Duck."

"Yes, well…the ice pack you applied would have helped if he had stayed awake long enough to use it. He also has some rather nasty bruises on his ribs and a boot print on his lower back that he conveniently forgot to mention."

"Any sign of head injury?"

"Not that I could detect, other than that glorious shiner, of course," Ducky replied. "I took the liberty of contacting Anthony's neurologist, Dr Colby, and explained what had occurred."

"And?"

"He has rescheduled Anthony's next appointment from next week to 3pm tomorrow, however, he did stress that should Anthony's condition deteriorate you will need to bring him in immediately. Rest and sleep are the best things for him now, we'll know more once he has met with Dr Colby."

"Thanks, Duck."

Both men watched as the younger man slept on, completely insensate.

"You know, Jethro, we were extraordinarily lucky not to lose him tonight. Do we know why that man targeted Anthony?"

"McGee and Abby are working on it."

"This young man has always shown a propensity for beating the odds and I must say turning off the power was a masterstroke - but how on earth did he manage to disarm and overpower an armed assailant?"

Gibbs cocked his head as his lips quirked in a proud smile.

"He's scrappy!"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs lifted the coffee pot to pour another mug of coffee and grimaced at the burnt sludge that had accumulated at the bottom. Muttering a soft curse under his breath, he started a fresh pot and glanced at his watch. It was almost 2100 – it had been a long day and was likely to be a long night.

He had periodically walked the perimeter of his home – front and back – his trained eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. He had checked on Tony several times since Ducky and Palmer left, each time he'd found the younger man sleeping deeply.

When the coffee was ready, he poured himself a cup and sipped the rich blend as he looked out over the back landing. Though he'd been anticipating the call, when it finally came, the shrill of his cell startled him.

"Gibbs."

"Gibbs how's Tony?" Abby asked, her voice filled with concern.

"He's sleeping, Abs, he'll be fine."

"Oh my God, when I think of what could have happened I just – no, no, no - think positive thoughts and send happy vibes," she told herself. "Tony's alive and he's sleeping and he's gonna be fine…please tell me he's gonna be fine, Gibbs!"

"I just did, Abs."

"You did? Oh…right, you did. I'm sorry, Gibbs, I'm just, like, in total disbelief that anyone would want to hurt Tony when he's so vulnerable and helpless - let alone try to kill him!"

"The body in Ducky's morgue should tell ya that DiNozzo is anything but helpless."

Silence abounded as Abby's brilliant mind attempted to accept the reality of that statement.

"Abs?"

"That's right! I mean…about Tony not being helpless cos he, like, _totally_ took care of business even though he couldn't see! That was, like, _wow_! I mean, Tony's always known how to take care of himself but how'd he do that Gibbs?"

"When you see him you can ask him," Gibbs said. "In the meantime, what can you tell me about Russell Carney."

"Oh, right, I'll put you on speaker so you can talk to McGee."

"Boss?" McGee's voice sounded down the line. "We did a background check on Russell Carney. He was born in Baltimore, orphaned at age 7 and placed in the foster care system. He joined the Marines the day after his 18th birthday. According to Social Services, Carney had behavioural problems and was never at one home longer than 8 months. I'm having the records sent over."

"Priors?"

"Nothing major, graffiti, shop-lifting and using a fake ID – all before he joined the Corps."

"Service record?"

"Exemplary," McGee said. "Served in the Marines for 14 years, did two tours of the Gulf and was medically discharged four years ago when he badly broke his right knee. His last known address was in civilian housing in the International Zone in Baghdad where he's been working as a security consultant for a civilian contractor for 3 years."

"You talk to his employer? Find out why he came back?"

"His employer, Jim Matheson, said Carney quit and returned to the US to attend to funeral of family member but our enquiries show no living relatives. I got the feeling Matheson was relieved Carney was gone, Boss, he'd had suspicions of him dealing with rebel factions but could never prove anything."

"Dealing what?"

"That's just it, Boss, it wasn't anything he could put his finger. Matheson said that Carney's job required him to make frequent return trips from Iraq to the US. Several times, right after he'd returned from the US, Carney had been seen speaking with known dissidents outside of the IZ. His employer approached him several times but he always had a plausible excuse."

"When did he get back in the country?"

"According to Immigration he returned to the US ten days ago."

"Any connections to DiNozzo?"

"The only obvious link I can find is that they both lived in Baltimore for a while."

"Timing's wrong," Gibbs replied. "Carney enlisted in the Corps 18 years ago, Tony transferred to Baltimore PD 11 years ago. Stay on it, let me know when you have something."

"On it, Boss," McGee replied, a fraction after Gibbs had disconnected the call.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Gibbs kept up the perimeter checks, despite his gut feeling that the danger was over - until he knew for sure, he would not risk his agent's life. The sound of movement from upstairs echoed in the stillness of the house. Gibbs' eyes narrowed and he climbed the stairs stealthily, flicking off the safety on his Sig Sauer has he went. He followed the sound into the guest bathroom and found Tony fumbling through the bathroom cabinet with one hand while the other was pressed firmly against his left temple. Even in the half-light Gibbs could see pinched expression and hear the ragged breathing.

"You okay?" he said softly, so as not to startle the younger man.

" S'nothin, Boss," he answered in a raspy voice.

"Look's like something."

"Headache."

"Bad?"

Tony closed his one good eye and responded with a reluctant and barely perceptible nod of his head. The rare admission drove the team leader's concern several notches higher and he moved into position, nudging Tony gently with the elbow of his guide arm.

"Come on," he said. "Sit down before you fall down."

Tony loosely gripped Gibbs' arm and allowed himself to be led back into the guest room. A sudden wave of vertigo rushed over him and caused him to stumble heavily into the former Marine.

"Hey, you with me?" Gibbs asked, scrutinising his agent's ashen complexion as he manhandled him onto the bed.

"I…I'm with ya, Boss," Tony replied in a barely audible whisper. "Just…need a minute."

"I'll get your meds."

He walked back into the bathroom, removed the cap from the bottle of pain meds and shook two into the palm of his hand. Filling a glass with water, he returned to the guest room to find Tony was leaning back against the bed head and breathing deeply and slowly to quell the dizziness.

Gibbs placed the pills in one of Tony's hands and watched as he wrapped his trembling fingers around the glass. Mindful of respecting the very definite personal boundaries the independent younger man had in place, Gibbs placed his own hand over Tony's. His agent tensed for a moment but Gibbs was grateful when the younger man relaxed and accepted the help. When Tony had washed down the meds, Gibbs placed the glass on the bedside table.

"Is it morning, Boss?"

Gibbs expelled a long breath before answering – he couldn't imagine there would ever come a time when his gut wouldn't painfully contract upon hearing those words.

"It's twenty-three hundred, Tony."

"Oh." Came the unreadable reply.

"Hold still, I'm gonna check your eye," Gibbs said, using the injury as a way to surreptitiously check for signs of fever.

"How's it look?" Tony asked quietly.

"To quote Ducky – spectacular. Hold still."

Tony's skin was cold and clammy, his teeth were chattering and fine tremors continued to run through his body. The lines of pain on Tony's face and the request for meds, left Gibbs in no doubt that his agent was in considerable discomfort but the former Marine was no stranger to the signs of delayed shock. He retrieved another blanket from the linen cupboard and spread it over the bed.

"Want me to call Colby?"

"No, s'just a headache, it'll probably be gone by morning," he replied softly to avoid aggravating the headache from hell.

Moments later, when the meds had begun take effect and the tremors stilled, Tony relaxed deeply into the pillows.

"Boss…do we know who he was?"

"Russell Carney, former Marine, 14 years in the Corps. Spent the last three working for a civilian security contractor in Afghanistan."

"Marine…you _sure_ he wasn't after you, Boss? It would be just my luck to get killed by mistake!" Tony quipped then, suddenly serious, he asked. "What's the connection, why's he after me?"

"McGee and Abby are on it. You know the name?"

"Carney…busted a Patrick Carney when I was in Philly but I heard he died while he was inside, some kind of prison riot."

"Relative?"

"Not sure, had to be 12 years ago," Tony said, rubbing at his temples to ease the persistent headache. He exhaled loudly.

"Something else on your mind?"

"Just wish I knew the connection…I killed a man tonight and I don't know why!"

"You killed a man, who was trying to kill you…you did what had to be done. You did…a hell of a job."

"Thanks, Boss," he whispered unconvincingly. He allowed his eyes to close but the deeply furrowed brow told Gibbs his agent wasn't ready for sleep just yet.

"Purcell and Brunner okay?"

"They're fine," Gibbs replied.

"So, who drew the short straw and got to be our new protection detail?"

"Me."

That got his attention and his right eye snapped open in surprise.

"No offence, Boss, but do you think that's smart? I mean, what if there's more than one guy? I have been known to piss off more than my fair share of people."

"Ya think?" Gibbs asked, amusement colouring his words.

Gibbs noted the rare uncertainty and anxiousness in the younger man's expression and knew that the battle with Carney had shaken him more than he'd let on – hell, a fight with an armed assailant would rattle anyone – he could only imagine the terror of not being able to see your opponent in a fight to the death.

"This wasn't a professional hit. Seemed more personal, Carney was more than likely working alone."

"We don't know that! They've already tried three times and whoever they are, they seem pretty freakin' determined to kill me," Tony laughed humourlessly.

"They want you…they'll have to get past me," he replied with a steely determination that left the younger man in no doubt that his team leader was prepared to lay down his life to protect him.

The green eyes may have been sightless but the silent gratitude they reflected was unmistakable. Tony swallowed convulsively, trying and failing to speak around the huge lump that settled uncomfortably in his throat. He hoped like hell that Gibbs had heard his unspoken, words and knew his silent message had been received loud and clear, when the former Marine gently clipped him under the chin.

"Get some sleep," he said.

Tony felt the mattress move and listened to the sound of Gibbs walking from the room and down the stairs. He felt his body relax, knowing his Boss had his six, and allowed his exhaustion and the meds to usher him back into sleep.

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Abby came crashing down from her Caf-Pow high at about 0200 and while she was more than happy to drink another carton or two and go the distance, McGee insisted that she lay down on her futon for a few hours sleep. Besides, with Abby snoozing comfortably, he was free to release some of his pent up aggravation and anxiety.

So far, the background information on Russell Carney had been frustrating and painstakingly slow. The records kept by Social Services for the eleven years Carney was a ward of the state, were sketchy at best. He had thought about hauling Keating's ass in to help – but Keating didn't know Tony like he did. If there was a connection to Tony somewhere in the mess of papers and computer searches, then he was damned sure that he would be the one who would find it.

His cell rang and he snatched it up before it disturbed Abby and quickly walked to the ballistics room to take the call. His eyes widened and his brain kicked into high gear when the caller identified himself as Major Samuel Thomas. Major Thomas was leading a coalition task force that had recently raided and arrested a well-known and well-funded rebel faction, involved in several roadside bombings. During the interrogation of these men, Russell Carney had been named as one of the providers of C-4. The major had tracked Carney to his former place of employment and his former boss had provided McGee's contact details.

The major was able to provide McGee with the number of an account from which as much as fifty thousand dollars had been paid to Carney. McGee agreed to assist the major to locate Carney's supplier and was filled with renewed vigour as he flicked his cell closed and disconnected the call.

After verifying the credentials of the major and the taskforce, McGee accessed the banking records and noted that five, ten thousand-dollar payments had been made to Carney's account. The day after each payment, five thousand dollars had been withdrawn and transferred elsewhere.

McGee knew that Carney had to be sourcing the C-4 from the US on his frequent trips home. He also knew that it was not impossible for a frequent traveller on these freighter flights to circumnavigate the security procedures and smuggle something aboard. He began to trace the transferred funds, in the hope that it would lead him straight to Carney's source.

By 0400, his program had been running for over an hour and there was nothing he could do but wait for it to complete it's search. Fatigue seemed to hit him suddenly, his head began to droop and his eyelids grew heavy, so he closed his eyes for just a moment.

"McGee!" Abby shouted, almost causing the young agent to topple from the stood on which he was precariously perched.

As bleary, blue eyes blinked away the sleep and confusion, he saw her standing, hands on hips, eyes squinted and her mouth set in a straight line. Even with a still sleep-addled mind, McGee knew Abby was not pleased.

"Good morning to you, too, Abby," he replied.

"Don't good morning me, Mister!" she admonished.

"What's going on? I was sleeping here, Abs!"

"That's right," she said, reaching into a draw and removing a mirror, she held it in front of McGee's face.

McGee grimaced at the odd angle of several clumps of hair and his red-rimmed eyes but it was the sight of multiple small squares, deeply imprinted into his face that caused him the most embarrassment.

"You fell asleep on my keyboard again!" she accused. "I warned you about this, Mister!"

"Abs," McGee said, looking at the monitor of the computer.

"Your excessive drool has already cost me two laptops!"

"Abs."

"Director Vance will probably summon me to his office to explain why I have such a high turnover of computer equipment!"

"Abs!" he said loudly, snapping her from her admonishing rant. "Abs, I got it! The, the, the trace and the connection to Tony, I got it!"

"What? Really?" She threw her arms around him, knowing how hard he had been working to wrap this case up for Gibbs and Tony. "I'm so proud of you Timmy, although - just so you know - this doesn't mean you're off the hook for the drooling. Don't just stand there - show me what you've got!"

McGee explained the call he'd received from Major Thomas and the trace he's started on the funds transferred from Carney's bank account. After being re-routed across the globe through several major banking systems, the funds had arrived at their final destination – the account of Master Sergeant Guy Briggs.

"Our mad bomber?" Abby asked. "The man that set the bomb that hurt Tony?"

"One and the same," McGee said. "We discovered that Briggs had been stealing C-4 that was designated for destruction from Quantico, right? He never gave us the chance to question him and find out what he'd been doing with it. Looks like he'd been supplying it to Carney who'd been smuggling it to Iraq and selling it to rebel factions."

"And that's the link to Tony!" Abby said. "Wait…Tony didn't kill Briggs. You and Ziva took the shots that killed him."

"But Tony was lead investigator on the case and that was well-documented. Wouldn't have been too hard for Carney to access that information."

"Isn't it a little extreme for Carney to go after Tony - a Federal agent - just because his business partner was killed?"

"You're right," McGee agreed. "There has to be a bigger connection between these two. They were both Marines, right? Maybe they served together – you take Carney and I'll take Briggs and we'll cross-reference their assignments and deployments."

"You got it!"

They worked furiously at their keyboards, bringing up the service records for the former Marines when McGee stopped and turned toward Abby with a concerned look on his face.

"Really, Abs? Excessive drool?"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

"So that's the connection, Boss," McGee said. "Abby and I dug a little deeper and found that Carney's last and his longest foster placement was with the Briggs family. That's where he met Guy Briggs. They must have been close because they enlisted in the Marines together, they completed basic training at Parris Island together and they remained close for the rest of their lives."

"That's a good job, Tim," Gibbs said, stretching the kinks out of his aching back. "Go hit the rack, take the rest of the day - the paperwork can wait."

"Thanks, Boss, how's Tony feeling this morning?"

"Haven't seen him yet. He had a rough night, so I let him sleep in."

McGee looked at his watch and saw it was only 0615. He wondered how the former Marine could consider that a sleep in when the roosters were still wiping the sleep from their eyes.

"I have an appointment at 1730. Ask Palmer to come and stay with Tony for an hour or so."

"I'll do it, Boss," McGee said. "Abby really wants to make sure Tony's in one piece after last night, so we'll see you about 1700."

He ended the call and the sound of movement from upstairs prompted Gibbs to start a fresh pot of coffee and start breakfast. He was reaching for Tony's Cheerios when he heard his agent call to him.

"Boss…Boss!"

The call was casual but there was an element of panic in the tone that had Gibbs halfway up the stairs before he realised he'd left the kitchen. He hit the upper landing running and burst into the guest room.

Tony was sitting on the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and the heels of his hands crushing against his temples. A tidal wave of agony engulfed him and he gritted his teeth and locked his jaw to silence the groan that was building in his throat.

"Tony?" Gibbs said, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder and surprised at the calmness of his own voice.

"Boss," he gasped. "I think I need to go to the hospital."

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation**

**BLINDSIDED**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"Jethro?" the diminutive ME called as he entered the waiting room and spotted Gibbs staring grimly out of large windows. "I came as soon as I could. Is there any news?"

"Not yet. Doctors sedated him, just took him downstairs for more scans."

"The poor lad must have been in considerable pain to agree to let you drive him to the hospital."

"Agree? Hell, Duck, he _asked_ me!"

"Oh my!" Ducky said with obvious concern, knowing the younger man's passionate aversion to hospitals.

He watched as his friend carded his fingers through his short silver hair in frustration. Very little could rattle Leroy Jethro Gibbs like the health and safety of one of his team – particularly one Anthony DiNozzo.

"Should've brought him in last night. I should've known he'd play down any pain in was in."

"Yes, well, knowing that young man, I'm sure he assured you that all he required was a good night's sleep."

"Doesn't matter. He was nearly killed last night, I should've brought him in."

Ducky sighed deeply and tried to steer the conversation away from Gibbs' self-recriminations.

"Timothy told me that Russell Carney targeted Anthony to avenge the death of his foster brother, Guy Briggs," Ducky said.

"Looks that way."

"What I don't understand is how on earth he connected Anthony to Briggs' death?"

"Carney was Briggs' next of kin. He's entitled to request a copy of the police and fire department reports. DiNozzo was listed as lead agent."

"So he blamed Anthony for Briggs' death, regardless of the circumstances," the ME said, shaking his head at the senselessness. "A rather tragic example of how a combination of grief and the overwhelming desire for vengeance does not lend itself to rational decision making."

"Ya think, Duck?"

Ducky checked his watch and noted that it was not quite seven AM.

"Perhaps you'll join me in a light breakfast? There's a lovely little British cafe just a short walk from here that has a most delightful breakfast menu." At his friend's hesitation he added. "Jethro, Anthony will be at least an hour in the imaging department – there's nothing you can do until he returns."

The lead agent nodded reluctantly and followed Ducky to the exit.

"Don't care what you say, Duck, I'm not eating kippers," he grouched.

"You don't know what you're missing, my good man!" Ducky admonished, with a chuckle. "But I'm sure we can find something more to your liking."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

With breakfast eaten and a fresh cup of coffee in hand, Gibbs and Ducky returned to the hospital and had just exited the elevator as an orderly pushed an empty gurney from Tony's room.

"Ah, perfect timing! It would appear our Anthony has just returned," Ducky stated.

A nurse was still fussing over the bed, straightening the blankets and gently positioning the pillows behind the head of the still sleeping man. She looked up from her patient as Gibbs and Ducky entered.

"Good morning, Agent Gibbs, Doctor Mallard, we meet again," she joked in a hushed voice. "As much as I enjoy your company, gentlemen, this is becoming a bad habit."

"Tell me about it," Gibbs muttered, silently appraising his agent.

"Dr Colby said to tell you that everything went well and that Tony should be waking up from the sedative very soon."

"Where is Colby?" Gibbs asked.

"He's requested an urgent consultation with Dr West, our Chief Ophthalmologist," the nurse advised. "They will both come and see you as soon as they have reviewed Tony's scans. You're both welcome to wait in here, of course."

The two friends sat in a comfortable silence, watching as Tony fought his way through the fog of sedation and struggled to open both eyes before remembering one was swollen closed. He licked his dry lips and Ducky rose to his feet, poured a glass of water and held the straw to Tony's lips.

"How are you feeling, my boy?"

"Tired," Tony answered sleepily and not at all surprised to find the ME at his side. "What's the verdict?"

"We're still waiting on Dr Colby, I'm afraid," Ducky replied. "I'm sure he'll be by any minute now. Are you in any pain, Anthony?"

"Some…s'not bad though," Tony replied, his eyes closing seemingly against his will. "s' the boss here?"

"Right here, Tony," Gibbs answered.

Tony nodded his head and allowed himself to doze lightly, seemingly comforted by the lead agent's presence.

Another thirty minutes passed before the door opened and the two senior doctors arrived. After the introductions, the leading ophthalmologist, Dr West, performed a quick check on Tony's eyes and confirmed that, although he had quite a shiner, the injury was to the surrounding tissue and not the eye itself.

Dr Colby advised that the scans had shown a reduction in the swelling of tissue in Tony's occipital lobe. The subsidence of swelling had partially released pressure from the optic nerve and nerve bundles and was the cause of the acute pain Tony had experienced.

Calling on all of his undercover skills, Tony absorbed the news with a totally unreadable expression on his too pale face - but beneath the façade his heart was pounding furiously.

"Doc, does this mean my sight will return?" he asked.

"These nerves have been compressed for two weeks now," Colby replied. "There is no guarantee, of course, but if they escaped damage, your vision may improve partially or - if you're extremely fortunate – when the rest of the swelling is gone, your sight may return fully."

"When?"

"This is just the first step in what can be a very long process. Like I said, now that the pressure has started to release, your recovery is completely dependant on the extent of the damage to the optic nerves and the surrounding nerve bundles and when or if they can resume functioning normally."

"Give me something, Doc, two months, two years, never?"

"I'm sorry, Tony, I'd like nothing more than to be able to give you a definite timeline," the doctor replied. "Suffice to say that this is a very positive step toward possible recovery. Had your optic nerves sustained that pressure for too much longer, the chance of any kind of recovery would be minimal."

"What about the headaches, Doctor?" Gibbs asked.

"The headaches and dizziness are a result of the trauma caused to the nerves and, as you witnessed this morning, can be extremely painful. Unfortunately, they can occur quite frequently while the nerves are recovering. I've prescribed a much stronger painkiller to take as soon as he feels the headaches begin. If they don't provide enough relief, I want him back here stat."

"Can I go home, Doc?" Tony asked.

"I'd rather you stayed until that sedative is completely out of your system," the doctor replied. "But if you give me your word you'll go straight to bed at home…"

Tony was out of the bed and standing on trembling legs before the doctor finished his sentence and Gibbs allowed a small grin. Having Tony actually _ask_ to be brought to the hospital was so out of character for the younger man it had worried the life out of the former Marine. Watching Tony jump from the bed and look impatiently in his general direction was definitely more DiNozzo-esque and Gibbs exhaled a long and relieving breath.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Despite protests that he was not tired, Tony was out like a light before his head hit the pillow and spent the rest of the day sleeping off the effects of the stronger painkillers and the sedative.

It was almost 5pm when Gibbs heard the clomping of platform boots thundering up the front path to his house and he walked quickly to his front door, hoping to harness the approaching Gothic cyclone.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!" Abby called excitedly as McGee followed sedately behind.

The former Marine quickly closed the door behind him and placed his index finger to his lips. "Shhhhh!"

"He's sleeping?" she whined, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

"He _was_," Gibbs replied dryly.

"I really, _really_ need to see him, Gibbs. I'm the only one who didn't see him last night!"

"He needs his sleep, Abs," Gibbs replied as he led them into the living room and they took a seat on the couch.

"Tony have a rough night, Boss?"

"Um…duh! Someone tried to kill Tony last night, remember, Timmy!" Abby prompted. "I don't know about you, but I'd _totally_ call that a rough night!"

"Actually, I meant _after_ that, Abs, after we'd all gone home," McGee explained.

"Oh, of course you did, sorry Tim," she replied meekly.

Gibbs explained the trip to the hospital and the results of the latest scans as Abby bounded to her feet and headed toward the stairs.

"Abs!"

"Don't try to stop me, Gibbs! You cannot tell me that story and expect me not to go to him. I need to see him with my own eyes. Just for a minute, _please, please, Gibbs!"_

Gibbs sighed audibly; he knew he was a sucker for those pleading green eyes and that double please thing she always did.

"Go!" he said. "Just for a minute - lose the boots first."

"No problem," she said sitting down on the couch while she unclipped the multiple latches on her platform boots. After quickly removing the boots, she leapt to her feet and started for the stairs again.

"Abs! Do not wake him," Gibbs said, emphasising each word.

"Cross my heart," Abby replied, making the gesture over her heart before continuing up the stairs to the guest room.

"You're in charge, McGee," Gibbs said. "There's food and drink in the refrigerator. Make sure DiNozzo stays resting – even if you have to sit on him - if we end up at the hospital again I'm gonna hold you personally responsible."

"Er…right, Boss," McGee answered hesitantly.

Gibbs picked up his wallet and keys and stood looking up at the guest room door when he realised that Abby had not returned.

"Damn," he cursed softly as he climbed the stairs and stood just outside the door.

Abby was sitting on the side of the bed, watching Tony as he slept soundly. She reached out a slightly trembling hand and gently ran one slender finger down the line of his jaw. Her eyes were filled with tears she refused to let fall – her friend was here and he was alive – that's all that mattered to her.

She looked to Gibbs, still watching from the door, smiled tremulously and lifted her hands to sign.

'_He's so still, Gibbs!'_

'_He's sleeping, Abs,' _Gibbs gestured in return._ 'You know, DiNozzo - he's got two speeds – mach 5 and stop!'_

'_He's so pale…what's gonna happen, Gibbs? What's gonna happen if his sight never returns?'_

'_He'll do what he always does…he'll take what he's got and he'll do the best he can.'_

She quickly swiped away the traitorous tear that slipped down her pale cheek and she leaned in to place a kiss gently on Tony's temple. She joined Gibbs by the door and he wrapped her in a comforting hug before steering her back down the stairs.

"I'll be back in about two hours," Gibbs said.

"Two hours! But what if Tony doesn't wake up for two hours? I won't get to talk to him!"

"Stay for dinner and you can talk to him later."

"Really, Gibbs? We can stay for dinner and see Tony later?"

"Yup! Have to settle for take out though, I only thawed two steaks," the team leader said as he walked through the front door and climbed into his car.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

From the moment Abby saw Tony walk cautiously from the guest room to the landing, she had stuck to his side like a limpet, oohing and ahhing over his spectacular black eye and lavishing copious amounts of sympathy and tender loving care. McGee had to hand it to Abby - his obstinate and independent senior field agent would _never_ tolerate that level of comfort and open affection from anyone else.

"So, where's Gibbs?" Tony asked.

"I don't know, he just said he had to go out," McGee replied.

"You didn't ask where?"

"Would you?"

"Good point."

"Hey, Tony, I brought the computer game I gave you for your birthday," McGee said. "I thought you might like to try it in a day or two, when you're feeling better."

Tony heard the tiny inflection of guilt in the younger agent's voice.

"Okay, Probie, spill! You already played my game, didn't you?" Tony teased.

"I…er…okay…I admit I was a little intrigued by the concept of computer games for the blind."

"You played it! Admit it - you couldn't help yourself."

"Well…fine, I played it," McGee confessed.

"And?"

"Tony…I'm not trying to big note myself here, but you have to remember that I have been in the upper echelon of on-line computer game champions since I was seven years old."

"What are you saying there, McGoo? Is this game a little too easy for the likes of you?" Tony continued to goad.

"Okay…first, TROG was created for the visually impaired, so I have an unfair advantage…second, yes, it was a little too easy for me."

Tony reached out a hand to the end table and felt around until he found what he had been searching for.

"You and me, Probie, best out of three games," he challenged and threw the item to McGee who caught it sharply.

"A blindfold?" McGee questioned. "You just happened to have a blindfold lying around?"

"I use it for baseball," Tony replied. "Put it on, Probie – my game, my rules."

"You really think you can beat me?" McGee grinned, rising to the challenge.

"With my eyes closed, Probe-ster," Tony quipped. "Set it up and don't even think about peeking – Abby's got you covered."

McGee patiently ran through the concept of the game with Tony, explaining how the player is trapped in a labyrinth with a murderous caveman called TROG and must avoid him to continue playing the game. If the caveman finds the player, the game is over. Points depend on how long the player can avoid the caveman. The background music plays a specific tempo or volume depending upon how far the player is from TROG.

"Come on, McGee! Cover those peepers and get ready to rumble!"

They spent the next hour amid raucous laughter; cursing and competitive taunting and Tony stunned McGee and Abby with his dexterity as he raced to a comprehensive three-nil victory.

"I don't get it," McGee stated. "I thought you said you'd never played this before."

"Cheer up, McGloomy, and I'll share the secrets of my success," Tony replied. "Despite the blindfold, you were still trying to use hand to eye co-ordination whereas I was using hand to ear co-ordination."

"Hand to _ear_ co-ordination? Really?" McGee scoffed.

"Absolutely, Probie, I no longer need eyes to see – I'm like a bat!"

"Wow, Tony, that was amazing!" Abby enthused. "You totally kicked McGee's butt!"

"You must learn the way of the Force, Probie-wan. The Force is what gives a Jedi his powers," Tony joked. "Set it up again and I'll teach you how it's done."

"Nope, no more, the boss will be home soon and he made it very clear that you were supposed to be resting," McGee said, firmly. "Hey, maybe you could sit back on the couch and we'll throw a blanket over you and Gibbs will never know."

"Yes he will," Tony said.

"You mean, he'll know because he's Gibbs?" McGee asked, still wearing the blindfold.

"Well, yes, there _is_ that - but what I meant is that he'll know because he's standing right behind you."

"Very funny, Tony, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm not as gullible as I used to be."

"I'm telling ya, Probie, he's been here for five minutes haven't you, Boss?"

"More or less," the former Marine replied.

The sound of the team leader's voice propelled McGee to his feet. He bit back a curse as he hit his shins against the coffee table before whipping off the blindfold and comically holding it behind his back.

"Oh, hey, Boss, I was just telling Tony to sit back on the couch and relax while I get him a blanket."

"That so?" Gibbs asked, walking through the living room and placing several parcels in the hall closet. On his return trip he surprised McGee with a swift head slap. "You better hope he doesn't wind up at the hospital again tonight."

"Ow! Sorry, Boss," McGee muttered.

"Damn, I wish I'd seen that," Tony whispered to a smiling Abby.

The rest of the evening was spent pleasantly but even after dinner had come and gone, Abby was still in full mother hen mode.

"Abs, I'm _fine_," Tony insisted for the umpteenth time.

"I'm sorry, Tony, I can't help it. Every time I look at you I think of how close we came to losing you."

"But you didn't lose me, Abs, I'm right here," he said, pulling her in for a one-armed hug.

"It was way too close," Abby stressed. "That man tried to smash your head like a ripe melon with Gibbs' baseball bat. We'd all be devastated!"

"Even Gibbs?" Tony asked, cheekily.

"_Especially_ Gibbs!" Abby replied, empathically. "Wouldn't you, Gibbs?"

"Absolutely," the team leader said without hesitation.

Tony's jaw dropped in shock at the rare public admission.

"Really? Wow, ah that's…er thanks, Boss," he stuttered, rendered almost speechless.

"That was my favourite bat," Gibbs deadpanned as he collected the empty pizza boxes and took them to the kitchen.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

After Abby and McGee departed, Tony turned in for the night and Gibbs spent several hours pottering around in his empty basement. He locked up the house and decided to head upstairs to bed. Although it was rare for him to lock the door of his house, he wasn't taking any chances with his trouble-magnet houseguest.

He removed the parcels he'd placed in the hall closet earlier and carried them up the stairs past Tony's room. Looking in, he expected to find the younger man asleep and was mildly surprised to see him sitting with this back against the bed head - seemingly in deep thought.

"Thought you were sleeping," he said, appraising his agent and seeing no sign of pain or illness.

"Just thinking," was all the younger man offered and Gibbs accepted it without pushing.

Tony felt the weight of something tossed onto his bed and heard the crinkle of paper wrapping.

"Went to see Sam this afternoon," Gibbs told him. "Picked up the uniforms."

"So…beep baseball…we're really doing this?"

"Unless you've changed your mind."

"No…I just…you know…you're busy and your knee gives you hell sometimes…"

"All I'll be doing is pitching and a bit of batting coaching. You and the other players will be doing all the running," Gibbs said. "First game's Saturday if you're still interested."

"What do the uniforms look like?"

"Like baseball uniforms, DiNozzo!"

"Yeah, but, you know, what are the team colours?"

"That a deal breaker? If you don't like the colours you're not playing?"

"Course not, Boss, I just wanna know, that's all."

"Blue."

"That's it? Blue? What kinda blue?"

"_Blue's blue_!" Gibbs replied exasperatedly.

"Come on, Gibbs, work with me here! Yankees blue or Dodgers blue?"

"Dodgers."

"Cool! And the pants?"

"DiNozzo!"

"Hey, sue me! I'm trying to paint a picture in my mind!" Tony defended as Gibbs gave a loud put upon sigh.

"Jerseys are Dodgers blue with white and red piping. The pants are pale grey with blue pinstripes and the socks and caps match the jerseys."

A huge DiNozzo smile lit up the room.

"We'll make these look good!" he said, quoting from his favourite MIB movie.

Gibbs didn't miss the fact that the smile disappeared as quickly as it arrived and he had the feeling the mood change had nothing to do with baseball.

"Something else on your mind?" he asked.

"The rest of my life," he answered vaguely after a long moment.

Gibbs waited patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, knowing that the younger man would speak his mind when he was ready and not before.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he became more than just a team leader to DiNozzo. Once he'd breached those interminable walls that he used so effectively to deflect anyone from caring or knowing more than he wished to reveal about himself, the deal was done. He knew Tony had many friends, from his college days to his years as a cop and a federal agent, but when the younger man was troubled and needed to talk, Gibbs was the talisman to whom he always turned – and to his surprise, the former Marine realised, he wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'm going to enrol in the blind reorientation centre," Tony suddenly blurted out. "I don't know whether my blindness is for two weeks, two months or for the rest of my life but I can't just sit here and wait, Boss…I need to move on...decide what to do with the rest of my life."

"Vance is still willing to find a position for you within the agency."

"I can't go back, Gibbs, you know that, right?" Tony said softly. "As much as I'd like to keep working with you guys, I'd hate not being involved in the investigations and the field work…it'd be too hard."

"What will you do?"

"I spoke to Steve Myles again earlier. He said, once I've finished my rehab, they could use someone to implement and co-ordinate an ongoing sports and exercise program at several of the blind youth centres he works with."

"Finally dusting off that Phys Ed degree?"

"Yep. It's not law enforcement and the pays not much but I thought it might be something I'd be good at."

"Difficult choice," Gibbs stated, knowing how much the younger man loved his job as a federal agent.

"No, the choice is easy. It's just the doing that's difficult," Tony said. "What do you think?"

"I think that you can do…anything you set your mind to," Gibbs replied earnestly.

"Thanks, Boss," Tony whispered, the emotion catching in his throat.

"Get some sleep, if you feel up to it tomorrow, we'll get some more batting practice."

Tony hunkered down in the bed and called to Gibbs as he walked to the bedroom door.

"You know what's _really_ crazy?" he asked. "That with your wardrobe, you even _know_ what piping and pinstripes are. You been holding out on me?"

"_Goodnight_, DiNozzo!" Gibbs said gruffly, unable to keep his amusement from his voice.

Tony listened to the footsteps as Gibbs walked up the hall to his bedroom. He had always found comfort in the former Marine's unwavering support but now, as he faced his life's biggest challenge, that support meant the world to him. He took a deep cleansing breath and settled down to sleep.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00

_**One month later.**_

Tony enrolled and was accepted at a top blind reorientation facility in Maryland. As it was a residential course, he'd moved into one of the dorms three weeks ago and lived there during the week - phoned frequently by his friends and former teammates.

Relearning how to do the most basic of tasks without the benefit of sight was quite often frustrating and arduous but Tony was completely focussed and determined to master these new life skills as quickly as possible.

He was learning how to get around using a white cane for guidance, a skill that gave him independence when there wasn't anyone to assist him. He was pleased with his progress with cooking, personal health and housekeeping though each of those areas required constant practice. He couldn't wait to speak to McGee each week to tell him about his progress with the computer and visual aid technology but by far his biggest challenge was Braille and using public transport. Although it was still early days, he was a long way from being able to take public transport alone and found both areas to be daunting and, at times, overwhelming.

He worked particularly hard during the week and always looked forward to Friday evenings when, unless his team was working a case, Gibbs collected him from the centre and they spent the weekends together. Saturdays were spent playing beep baseball for the Brentwood Bears – a team coached by Gibbs' old Marine buddy Slammin' Sammy Robinson, who also doubled as the team's catcher. Sundays were spent catching up on household chores and hanging out. Before they realised it, they had fallen into an easy, comfortable routine.

Both men had thoroughly enjoyed their three games of beep baseball - the atmosphere was always a mixture of fierce competition mixed with a liberal dose of fun and every game was played in a great sporting spirit.

Three games into his rookie season, Tony was proving to be a natural, scoring ten runs from twelve "at bats" - including three home runs. So impressed was Coach Robinson, that he elevated Tony up the batting order to leadoff hitter. Tony's athleticism in the field had also impressed his coach and teammates and scored him the important position of back-fielder. Generally called into play as backup for the rest of the fielders in case they failed to stop the ball, the back fielder needed to be quick and not afraid to put his body on the line to save a run. Tony had affected eight 'outs' in three games and the array of bruises and scrapes he had acquired, certainly testified to the fact that the ex-detective was as tenacious as they come.

They were ten minutes into the drive to the Bears' home ground before Gibbs noticed the unusual silence. As part of their new routine, Gibbs was driving Tony's Mustang, the top was down and the younger man sat with his face tilted toward the warmth of the sun.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm fine," came the reply, complete with a grin that didn't quite cut it. "Just a case of pre-match nerves, I guess. Leadoff hitter in front of a VIP crowd today."

Gibbs had finally caved to Abby's constant badgering and he'd reluctantly agreed to the team coming to watch today's game. Abby, Ducky, Ziva, McGee and Palmer, who was bringing a particularly eager Mrs Cantrell, would all be at the game to cheer them on.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes in thought then quickly dismissed his suspicions and pressed down hard on the gas. His actions had the desired effect as Tony flashed a brilliant smile.

"Listen to that engine," he crowed like a proud Poppa. "She handles like a dream, doesn't she, Boss?"

"That she does," Gibbs replied, his lips quirked in a small grin as he eyed the near empty stretch of road. "Let's see what she can do."

He shifted into top gear and flattened the gas pedal to the floor as the powerful engine responded immediately and roared to life – his ear-to-ear grin mirrored on the face of the younger man at his side.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

They arrived at the ground just fifteen minutes before the start of play. Gibbs assisted Tony from the car to the spectator area to greet their mini fan club. Ziva, Abby and Mrs Cantrell were all wearing copies of the team's blue jerseys with 'DiNozzo 04' blazoned across the back. They all greeted him with a warm hug.

"Jethro! Where on earth have you been? Your entire team has been looking for you!" Ducky exclaimed.

"Do you wanna tell 'em or will I?" Tony said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs warned.

"Gibbs got booked for speeding," Tony blurted. "He left his ID and cell in his sports bag in the trunk and the cop wouldn't believe he was NCIS' finest."

"You done?" Gibbs said without rancour.

"That had to be embarrassing, Boss" Tony continued. "I told you to let me swap places, that would have _really_ freaked him out. We could have been just like Al Pacino and Chris O'Donnell in Scent of a Woman. Ooh-rah!"

"Come on, Pacino, let's go warm-up," Gibbs said, nudging Tony with his guide arm and moving off.

"Good luck!" the others echoed as they resumed their seats.

Ziva and Abby stole a lingering glance at the rear view of the two men as they walked toward the other players.

"Oh my," Ziva muttered, admiringly.

"I _love_ a man in uniform," Abby grinned mischievously.

"Snug in all the right places," Mrs Cantrell said appreciatively. When she noticed Abby and Ziva's shocked expressions she added. "I may be old, girls, but I ain't dead yet!"

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

Due to the shortage of volunteers, Palmer and McGee had agreed to assist as spotters. While the Bears were fielding, Palmer took the left side of the field and McGee the right. When the batter hit the ball McGee or Palmer would shout a player number to warn that player that the beeping ball was headed in their direction. They were mindful not to call two numbers or give any instructions or directions, as the batter would automatically be awarded a run. They were also responsible for calling 'stop' if a collision between players was imminent.

When the Bears were batting, McGee waited at third base and Palmer at first, to guide the runners back to the dugout after they had either scored a run or got out.

As back-fielder and the last line of defence, Tony moved to the right, left or centre, depending on the call of the player numbers, ready to cleanup any misfields or assist if necessary. Despite feeling the beginning of another headache, Tony had affected four very athletic stops and three outs, to the utter delight of his team and his very own cheer squad.

With the Bears going in to bat at the top of the sixth and final innings they were leading the Falcons by 11-7. After a quick huddle in the dugout with their team and some encouragement from the coach, Gibbs led Tony over to the batter's box and handed him his bat.

"You're next man in. You feeling okay?" Gibbs said, worried that Tony looked a little pale.

"Sure, Boss."

"Your swing's a little off," Gibbs said.

"It is?"

"Your back foot is coming off the ground and you're losing power," Gibbs said. "Let me see your swing."

Tony assumed his usual stance; going through his action in slow motion for Gibbs to analyse.

"Stop!" Gibbs called. "Where's your back foot?"

Tony realised that his back foot had lifted an inch from the ground. "Huh."

"As you start your swing, you need that shift of weight from the back leg toward the front leg," Gibbs told him, correcting Tony's stance. "You can't do that if your back foot's in the air. That's where you're losing power. Try it again."

Tony tried again, this time mindful of keeping his back foot grounded.

"Better," Gibbs said. "Make sure you follow through, you'll get more distance and height. You got it?"

"I gotcha, Boss."

They heard the mixed reaction of cheers and moans from the crowd as the Falcons affected another out.

"You ready?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm ready," Tony replied, reaching for Gibbs' guide arm and allowing the former Marine to steer him to home plate.

"Go get 'em, Tony," Gibbs whispered as he stepped away from the plate to the rapturous cheering and applause from Abby, Ziva and Mrs Cantrell.

The crowd settled, unlike normal baseball, it is imperative for crowds to remain quiet while the ball is in play so the players can hear.

Tony set himself and nodded slightly as the pitcher called 'ready' and 'pitch.' Misjudging the speed of the ball, Tony swung too soon and completed a hefty air-swing.

"Strike one!" the umpire called.

Tony rolled his shoulders, lifted the bat over his head with both arms to loosen up, before setting himself again. Hearing the pitcher call 'ready' and 'pitch,' he launched into another lofty swing, this time after the ball had passed him, and he heard the ball thud into the catcher's glove.

"Strike two!" the umpire called.

'_Concentrate, Anthony_,' he thought, ignoring the nagging of his persistent headache.

He stepped back from the plate, took a few deep breaths and practiced his swing before stepping up again and readying himself. He closed his eyes behind the blindfold and tried to relax, replaying in his mind, Gibbs' instructions about his back foot and follow through.

He nodded his readiness again, hearing 'ready' and 'pitch' from the pitcher. He swung his bat mightily, hearing the resounding crack as the ball flew off the bat and carried into the outfield. Within a second, Tony heard the loud buzzing to his right and he dropped his bat and ran full tilt for first base. His head throbbed with every step but he made the base in quick time and was called safe.

The crowd cheered wildly and Tony was a little disoriented until Palmer ran to his side to guide him back to the dugout.

"Wow, Tony, that was some hit!" Palmer enthused. "It cleared the infield and…that's weird…someone's actually measuring where it landed."

"If it travelled one hundred and eighty feet in the air, it's a homerun and adds two runs to the score," Tony explained.

The homerun was confirmed and the noise of the crowd drove the hammering in his head up several notches. He winced in pain and embarrassment as he heard Ziva's delighted call.

"Tony, you scored a touchdown!"

He arrived back in the dugout to the rowdy congratulations from his teammates and fell heavily into his chair. With only one out this inning, hopefully he had a little time to sit quietly before he had to take the field again.

The second and third outs came far too quickly for Tony and with little rest he found himself back in the outfield. The Bears were now leading 14-7 at the bottom of the sixth. Gibbs was pitching and the Bears' infielders were doing well, giving Tony a well-earned break at the back.

The crack of ball on bat sounded again and Tony instinctively started running to his right before Palmer called his player number. As he ran he found it difficult to hear the beeping of the ball over the pounding in his head. Diving full length to his right he flinched as the ball cannoned into his shoulder. Fumbling around for a moment, he grabbed the ball in his left hand and held it in the air, delighted to hear the umpire call 'out.' His teammates whooped with joy and he heard Gibbs' call of "attaboy, Tony," shouted from the mound before they turned their attention to the new batter.

Tony knew something was wrong the moment he tried to regain his feet. Dizzy to the point of nausea, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to sit up let alone stand. He took a few deep breaths and cautiously squatted on his haunches, then slowly straightened his legs to stand. The world tilted suddenly and Tony took several staggering steps before falling face first into the turf.

"Tony?"

He heard McGee call his name from his spotter's position behind the baseline but was too focussed on regaining his feet to answer. He scrambled on all fours before trying to stand again; the world took another whirl to the right and his legs betrayed him again. He landed with enough impact to force the air from his lungs and this time he stayed down.

"Agent Gibbs!" Palmer yelled from the opposite base line.

Gibbs turned to see Tony lying face down in the dirt. He immediately called a time-out and he, McGee and Palmer converged on their prone friend.

"Tony?" Gibbs said as the younger man attempted to sit up.

"Hey, Tony, stay down," Palmer instructed. "Give yourself a minute."

"What the hell happened?" Gibbs growled.

"He fielded that last ball, tried to get up and couldn't stand, Boss," McGee replied.

Ducky and Coach Robinson arrived at that moment with a cold drink and a wet towel.

"Anthony, can you tell me how you're feeling?" Ducky asked.

"M'dizzy…headache," Tony replied.

"I don't suppose you thought to bring his medication, Jethro?"

"It's in his sports bag, Duck. McGee?"

"On it, Boss!" McGee answered before jogging off to the dugout to retrieve Tony's sports bag.

"What's say we help you from the field and allow the game to continue, hmm? Then we can have a better look at you," Ducky suggested.

Coach Robinson spoke briefly to Tony, offering some encouraging words, before calling a relief pitcher for Gibbs and a reserve fielder for Tony into the game and returning to his catching position.

As Gibbs and Palmer assisted Tony from the field, Abby, Ziva and Mrs Cantrell were already waiting by the sideline. Tony walked from the ground on rubbery legs and was seated in a folding chair near the spectator area.

Ducky squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. As Gibbs took a sports drink from Abby and placed it in Tony's hands.

"Drink it," he urged softly.

McGee returned with the sports bag and the meds, relieved that two other spectators had filled his and Palmer's positions as spotters.

Ducky's genteel voice sounded. "Now my boy, let's have a look at you."

The ME lifted the blindfold and removed it from Tony's eyes, causing him to hiss in pain and turn his head away sharply.

"I'm sorry, Anthony, I was…Anthony? Anthony, can you see?"

Tony's eyes were screwed tightly closed as pain contorted his handsome face. Gibbs' own heart pounded furiously and he noticed the instant the question penetrated Tony's pain-addled brain. He watched as realisation slowly formed on the younger man's features and, very slowly, Tony attempted to open his eyes. His mouth opened and closed as if to speak but no sound came forth. With his eyes opened to slits, Tony hissed again and closed them tightly. Gibbs was unable to remain silent.

"Tony, can you see?"

"Light, Boss, I…I see light and darkness," he replied, hearing the gasps and sharp intakes of breath from his friends.

"Keep your eyes closed now, Anthony, I think it's best if we get you back to the hospital post haste," Ducky said.

McGee rifled through Tony's bag to find the designer sunglasses and gave them to his friend as they lifted him gently to his feet and assisted him to his car. Ducky travelled with Gibbs and Tony to the hospital, calling Dr Colby on the way.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

The next 48 hours passed slowly, as Tony underwent a barrage of tests confirming that his optic nerves and nerve bundles had begun to function and his vision had improved from total blindness to light perception. Although his vision was still severely impaired he could now determine the general source and direction of light. As Dr Colby had warned, with the improvement came frequent and almost crippling headaches.

Tony was released from hospital and ordered to take a week off from his rehab – he was staying at Gibbs' home once again. The strong painkillers caused him to sleep up to 16 hours a day and left him feeling lethargic and nauseous but, in his waking hours, he tried his best to pull his weight around the house.

With Gibbs unable to take any more time off, he would often come home to find dinner started or the laundry done and he felt ridiculously proud of the progress Tony had made adapting to a life without sight. Of course, he never bothered to mention that three of his white undershirts had inadvertently been washed with Tony's red Buckeye sweatshirt and were now rosy pink additions to his collection of polishing rags.

With dinner eaten and the dishes cleared away, they moved their coffee to the living room.

"How bout a game of checkers?" he asked.

"Sure," the younger man replied, stifling a yawn.

Gibbs retrieved the set and placed the box in Tony's hands.

"Never got a chance to give this to you on your birthday," Gibbs said. "Figured it was about time you owned a set."

Tony's eyes widened and his jaw dropped open until he finally found his voice.

"Boss, I…I can't take this," he said. "This was made for you by your father…_Jack_ made this for _you_."

"Ya think?"

Tony's brow creased in confusion as he gently ran his hands over the highly polished and handcrafted box. His fingers found the ornately carved initials and he swallowed convulsively as he realised they did not read LJG but ADD – this was a different box.

With slightly shaking fingers, he opened the lid and felt the texture of the checkers. One set had ridging around the edges and the top while the others were completely smooth, making them very easy to differentiate by touch. Running exploring fingers over the checkerboard, he noticed that every second square had been raised by the tiniest margin to help him determine one 'colour' from the other. Although Tony couldn't see, Gibbs had chosen two woods - a deep, red mahogany and a creamy, sandalwood.

Tony cleared his throat to speak…then cleared it again…and found he had no words.

"I...I…thank you," was all he said but the look of gratitude was clear for Gibbs to read and the unspoken "for everything" was loud and clear.

The former Marine stood, picking up the coffee mugs to take back to the kitchen and, Tony suspected, to give them both a moment to collect themselves.

"Don't just sit there, DiNozzo, set-up the board!" he said giving Tony's shoulder a quick squeeze as he passed by. "I may not know how to play that computer cave man thing but I can still kick your ass in checkers."

He stopped at the kitchen door and looked back to see Tony placing the checkers in their starting positions. His eyes softened as he watched the younger man run his fingers over his initials on the box and smile.

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

_**One month later.**_

Gibbs hurried from the elevator and veered toward the nurses' station when Dr Colby called his name.

"What the hell happened?" he growled.

"Like I told you on the phone, Agent Gibbs, Tony experienced severe, nauseating headaches and was brought in by one of the staff at the centre."

"And?"

"We've done some more tests and given him a strong painkiller, he's not in any discomfort at the moment."

"What about his sight?"

"I was just about to go in and see him," the doctor said. "Maybe you'd like to join me?"

His frustration at the doctor's obvious avoidance was temporarily overridden by his need to see Tony and he followed the doctor into the darkened room.

The younger man was dozing lightly as Gibbs walked to his bedside and placed his hand on Tony's forearm.

"Tony?" Gibbs spoke softly.

"Hey, Boss," Tony replied sleepily with his eyes still closed and a crooked grin that confirmed he was _definitely_ feeling no pain.

It took three attempts but he finally managed to open his heavy eyelids and found he could now leave them at half-mast without too much discomfort. He turned his head toward Gibbs and gave him another goofy smile.

"Never thought I'd say this, Boss, but…you're a sight for sore eyes."

The look on Gibbs' face as the realisation struck, had Tony grinning like a madman.

"You can see?"

Tony looked directly at Gibbs.

"I can see," Tony replied, his voice thick with emotion.

His grip tightened painfully on Tony's forearm and he looked to the doctor for an explanation.

"From what we can determine, the optic nerves recovered sufficiently from their trauma and began to interpret the messages received from Tony's eyes. The change was so sudden that it caused a severe amount of pain but that should also subside over the next few days."

"You did new scans?" Gibbs asked.

"Of course. We can see no permanent damage to the visual cortex or posterior visual pathways of his brain," the doctor said, with a smile and a shake of his head. "He is a very lucky man. His pupils are dilated and he's extremely photosensitive at the moment, but this will also improve very quickly."

A high-pitched beeping sound caused the doctor to reach into his pocket for his pager.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere," he said walking to the door. "I'd like to keep Tony overnight but he can go home first thing tomorrow. We'll need to monitor his progress over the next few weeks but, at this stage, I don't see why he can't return to work in two to three weeks."

"Thanks, doc," Tony replied, dropping his head back onto the pillows and sighing heavily.

"Get some sleep while you can. I need to make a few calls," Gibbs allowed a quick grin. "When this news gets out, you're not gonna have time to rest."

00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00

The team leader was right again! Within an hour of him making his calls, Tony's darkened room was a hub of excited chatter and laughter with Abby, Ziva, McGee, Palmer and Ducky all present to share Tony's wonderful news.

"So when are you coming back to work, Tony?" McGee asked.

"Um…in case you have forgotten, Probie, you've been sitting at my desk for the last few months. I resigned, remember?" Tony replied.

"No!" Abby said. "No, that's so not fair – things have changed now! You have to do something, Gibbs. Tony can come back now!"

"Spoke to the director a while ago about your verbal resignation," Gibbs said.

"And?" Tony asked apprehensively.

"Said to remind you that he's a busy man who can't be expected to remember every conversation he has with every agent. Said if resigning meant that much to you, you shoulda put it in writing."

"So…he never processed my resignation?"

"Nope…according to SOP you've been on medical leave after a work related injury. When you're cleared for duty you'll come back to your previous position."

"Well, technically, at the time of the accident I was doing your job," Tony added mischievously.

"Don't push it, DiNozzo."

"Not pushing it, Boss."

Tony looked thoughtful for a moment and glanced up at McGee. "Where does that leave, McGee?"

"Hey, the director made it very clear that filling your position was temporary and dependent on your recovery," McGee said.

"So…we're good?" Tony asked hesitantly.

"We're fine," McGee responded. "Although, Ziva and I were kinda hoping you'd lose all seniority and have to start again as a probationary agent."

Tony shuddered. "Don't even go there, Probie."

"Hey, what are you gonna do about baseball?" Jimmy asked.

"Gibbs spoke to Sam," Tony said. "Seems he's been looking for someone sighted to take over the catcher's role for him. So, whenever we're not working, we'll keep playing."

"Oh, I'm so glad," Abby replied, with a gleam in her eyes. "I mean, it would be such a shame to waste those uniforms."

Tony frowned as she and Ziva giggled at some private joke.

As the conversations continued around him he looked at the odd little group – there were no genetic or blood ties but they shared a bond that few hereditary families ever achieve. He felt an overwhelming sense of quiet gratitude that these people had come into his life, sharing their friendship, their quirky idiosyncrasies, their humour and their strong sense of loyalty.

Then there was Gibbs - with his gruff, blunt words, his don't-even-think-about-it glares and stinging head slaps, all camouflaging the depth of caring that went way beyond words. He was his anchor, his touchstone when his job and, on occasion, his life threatened to careen out of control.

The team leader was leaning against the far wall and listening to one of Ducky's colourful tales. For a moment their eyes met and they shared a knowing grin.

Tony leaned back against his pillows once more and allowed his friends' easy conversations and soft laughter to wash over him and lull him into a restful sleep.

**The End**

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**Footnote: **Acquired brain injuries that cause neurological vision impairment are not always permanent, nor do they always cause complete blindness – this depends on the severity of the damage to the optic nerve. Once the swelling subsides, sight may return either in full or partially or not at all – every case is different. In Tony's case and due to my overwhelming desire to have a happy ending, I have expedited the rate of improvement with his sight and placed him on the road to complete recovery. Sadly, for a lot of people, this is not always the case.

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A/N I hope you enjoyed this story – thank you for taking the time to read it. L


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